


The Dragonborn Returns

by ChelleyPam



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-05-28 01:55:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15038150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChelleyPam/pseuds/ChelleyPam
Summary: Six years ago Lord Stark’s bastard son vanished, caught up in a freak storm. Now the boy returns as a man, and he is much changed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know I am the world’s worst at starting new stories and being slow to update. I blame the damn plot bunnies. My brain is infested with them.

Catelyn continued to work on the prayer wheel for Bran, all the while begging The Seven to heal her boy. Maester Luwin had said he may never wake up, but she couldn’t believe that. He had to wake up.

At least Robb was no longer hovering over her. There had been a roaring crash like thunder and the whole of the castle had shaken. Her eldest son and Theon had gone to see what was the matter, finally leaving her in peace. They had been gone over an hour.

Winterfell could crash to rubble about her as long as Bran opened his eyes.

Voices drifted to her from down the hall. She did not look up until Rob called to her from the doorway. When she did, the figure standing next to him made the breath catch in her throat.

“Jon?”

He had grown since the odd storm that had somehow swallowed him and two of Ned’s guards, never to be seen again. She remembered her husband’s anguish as he searched for the lost boy and her own shame at the brief relief she had felt. The past six years had added some height to him, though not much. His hair was still worn long and was pretty enough to belong to a girl. He wore armor that looked to be made of leather and some kind of bone, and it bore the signs of frequent and fierce battle.

He looked like a warrior.

His eyes were focused on Bran, and she saw worry and fear there just before he looked at her. “Lady Catelyn, may I please enter?”

He seemed unsure she would let him. Why should he think that she would, given how she had treated him in the past.

She nodded. 

Jon approached the bed and the too small figure upon it. He set the pack he was carrying down and pulled off his gloves, one hand resting on Bran’s pale forehead. “How long ago was the fall?”

Rob answered him. “A little over a fortnight.”

“And he’s not awakened? Are you able to give him water? Broth?”

“Carefully. He body still swallows, but he does not stir.”

Jon seemed to take that information and roll it over in his mind as he reached into his pack and rifled within. “I’m not the greatest with healing enchantments, I’ve concentrated more on the destructive lines, but I have a solid skill in alchemy and I recognize a quality scroll when I see one.”

What was he going on about?

He pulled a scroll sealed in wax from the pack. “I held onto this one in case I got into bad shape. So far I was fortunate not to need it.” He looked at Bran, concern heavy on his brow. “Good thing.”

Rob had come up beside her. “Jon, what are you on about?”

Jon cracked the wax seal. “A little magic.” He started reading from the scroll in a lilting, unfamiliar tongue. As he did the parchment began to glow while his voice took on a resonating, almost ethereal hollowness. Catelyn stared in disbelief as a golden light spiraled throughout the room, engulfing them. The soreness of her fingers, weary from working on the prayer wheel, faded away, as did her headache brought on by her tears and sleepless nights. A pleasant warmth suffused her, comforting her. She heard Rob gasp and knew he was feeling it, too.

The parchment broke apart into countless glowing motes that faded from sight.

In the sudden silence of the room, Bran awoke with a gasp.

 

~***~

Catelyn made her way from the castle with only one guard, her feet carrying her over the ground towards Winter Town. The structure was easy to spot, situated as it was between the town and Winterfell. The fearsome trembling of the world they had all felt was the appearance of the house. The house and Jon.

The front doors were heavy wood and ornately carved, though they opened smoothly on well oiled hinges. There was an entry way with weapon racks and display cases, housing blades and jeweled baubles. Beast heads were mounted on the walls and sconces were lit to illuminate her path. She moved forward towards the voices of Robb, Theon and Jon, opening another set of doors. 

The boys...men looked up from around a large, sturdy table. Upon seeing her, they all moved to rise.

“Please, don’t get up.”

Jon frowned. “Is something wrong with Bran?”

“He’s resting. Maester Luwin gave him some juice of the poppy for the pains in his legs, watered down. He says that he can feel them at all is a good sign. That he may yet be healed.”

Jon looked towards a corner behind her. “I’m working on that.”

She turned and saw a round table with a slim, open flame lamp and curious glass vessels. “What is it?”

“An alchemy table. I used up my healing potions in Sovngarde, so I’m brewing more. It takes time, but I should have some strong ones done by morning.”

“Jon was just starting the tale of what happened the day he disappeared, Mother.”

She looked to the young man. “What did happen , Jon? And what of the men who vanished with you?”

Sadness flitted through his features. “Dead. Joffer was broken by the storm, or so Liett told me. He died fighting to save me.”

“Save you from what?”

“The Headman’s axe.”

Cat gaped at him in shock. “You were just a boy!”

“It didn’t matter. We...appeared in the same area as a group of rebels in a civil war. The opposing side took us all into custody and we were all given the same sentence.” Jon pulled a chair out for her, a gentlemanly gesture she didn’t realize he’d picked up. She thanked him softly and sat down as Robb poured what looked like mead from a green bottle into a tankard for her.

Jon told them of Liett trying to rush the guards in an attempt to buy him time to flee, screaming of how he was just a boy and innocent of any crime. Of being forced to his knees, the sight of the head of the man killed before him looking up from the basket. Of the dragon, massive, black as pitch and with glowing red eyes, landing atop the tower above him before it started to burn the town to ash. Of struggling to find his way through the treacherous land of Skyrim with creatures ready to attack you on the land and dead men that walked in deep crypts he had to explore in his search to learn what he needed to survive.

Cat resolutely stared into her mead when he told of killing his first dragon. Of the power of the beast flowing into him. 

Of being declared ‘Dragonborn’.

“Dragons.” Theon snorted. “Lay off, Jon.”

“Go into the store room if you don’t believe me. Mirmulnir’s skull is in there. My first. I was going to make that room a trophy room, but decided I’d rather have the extra storage.” 

Theon and Robb practically ran to the back of the home. She followed, curious. There, on a low platform towards one side, was a massive skull that could only be that of a dragon. Given the size of the skull, Catelyn shuddered to think how large the beast had been overall.

Robb touched the skull, wonder in his eyes. “You said this was your first? How many did you kill?”

“I lost count. I’m not particularly proud of it.”

“Why not?”

Jon ran a hand through his curls. “For most of them, it wasn’t their choice. They are intelligent creatures, as much as men, but they were commanded by just one of their kind. Most of them would have been content to dwell on some mountain peak and never look twice at men if Alduin had let them be. Killing him should bring the remaining of their number peace and freedom.”

“Did you kill him?”

“I did. He was the last, just before I was sent back here.”

“How did that happen, Jon?” 

He turned to face her. “I’m not sure. I went to face Alduin in Sovrngarde, the place where Nord’s go after they die. He would increase his power by devouring the souls of their dead. I fought him and won. Afterwards Tsun, the warrior who guarded the entrance to Shor’s Hall where the dead could spend their afterlife in feasting and song, he said it was time for me to return home. I thought he was going to send me back to Skyrim, but just before he sent me back, he said ‘I cannot promise you peace for long. Winter is coming, and you will be needed.’ Then everything started to tremble and I found myself standing in front of my hall’s doors, only my house had somehow been brought here.”

Robb frowned. “A warrior in a foreign land said that to you? He told you that winter is coming?”

Jon nodded, his expression one of perfect Stark grimness. “He did. Put ice in my gut hear that.”

It chilled Cat as well. All of it chilled her, especially that damned skull.

The next morning Jon came to the castle with his finished potions and his notes on their preparation for Maester Luwin. The elixirs made Bran so much improved, though Jon cautioned against drinking them all at once, and he still had no memory of the fall itself. She left the boy to eat and rest and sent a servant to ask Jon to meet with her.

She awaited him in the crypts. Robb had insisted on coming with him and she looked at her son’s stubborn expression.

“I wanted to be here in case you plan to ask my brother to leave again.”

She couldn’t blame him. “I’ve no intention of doing anything of the sort, though perhaps you have the right to hear this as well.”

She looked up at the statue of Lyanna Stark, a candle lit in one outstretched hand. “When my husband returned from war with an infant he called his son by another woman, I was shock and dismayed. I would have expected such from Brandon Stark, but not Eddard. Ned was the honorable brother. The stalwart and austere brother. I felt betrayed. And, to my shame, when the guards returned that day with Robb and said that a strange storm had struck and carried you away, I felt relief.”

Robb drew in a sharp breath. “Mother...”

“I will be heard, Robb. I am not proud of what I felt. Not proud of how I slighted Jon in his youth. But there is more.” She looked to the other young man with his dark hair and solemn eyes. “Ned searched a fortnight for you, riding the country side in search of some sign, pushing his men to the very edge until he was finally forced to admit defeat and return. I thought we would put it past us and move on, but that night he broke down and cried and begged me to forgive him. I thought he meant for laying with another woman to conceive you, but then he looked up at me and said, ‘Forgive me for not trusting you with the truth from the beginning.’”

Both men frowned then, she looked back up at the statue. “Robert’s war was based on the belief that Rhaegar Targaryen had stolen away Lyanna Stark. That he imprisoned and raped her. When Ned finally found her in that tower in Dorne, she yet still lived. She held on just long enough to tell him the truth. Rhaegar did not abduct her. She went with him willingly, with love and joy in her heart.”

Jon went pale, the Implication setting in. “She was dying when he found her.”

Cat nodded. “Bleeding out from a difficult birthing. She begged him to keep her child safe, because she knew that if Robert suspected Rhaegar was the father, you would not have lived to see your first name day.”

Robb bit off a curse as Jon stepped closer to his mother’s image. “Targaryen. A house of dragons.” A near silent snort escaped him. “The Blood of dragons. Dragonborn. That makes more sense, now. I suppose a cleverer man would have figured that out on his own.” He shook his head. “So I am not a Stark bastard, but a Targaryen.”

“You are not.” Her words were more sharp than she had intended. “You are not a bastard, you never were. The tower also contained two documents written by the High Septon at the time. One recorded that he granted Rhaegar an annulment from his wife, Princess Elia, and another recording that he married Rhaegar and Lyanna the same day. You are their true born child.” She gave him a sad look. “Your name isn’t even truly Jon, but Ned couldn’t very well call you Aegon.”

Robb shook his head. “The documents, where are they?”

“Greywater Watch. Howland Reed took them, knowing they would be better hidden there. He offered to take Jon as well, to keep him out of sight, but Ned wanted you raised among your kin. If you had taken after your father he would have had little choice if he was to keep you hidden, but fortunately you look like a Stark.”

Jon sat down upon the base of his mother’s statue. “All my life, I have been Jon Snow, the Bastard of Winterfell. Even when I was lost, when I was fighting to survive horrors and freezing cold, I still clung to that. Who am I now?”

Robb scowled. “You are my brother. This changes nothing. You were raised my brother and my father called you ‘son’. You are a Stark, now and always.”

“Do not hate Ned for the lies, Jon. Please do not be angry with him.”

Jon’s head came up. “Angry with him? For willingly taking a stain upon this honor for my sake? For risking being caught and executed for treason to hide me? For knowingly putting a strain on his marriage? How could I hate him for that?”

A tension she didn’t know she held released within her. “Then I beg you to forgive me for being so cruel to you.”

He looked at he with a puzzled frown. “You were cold to me, but you were never cruel. Many a lord’s wife would have found any excuse to beat or starve their husband’s bastard, or planned some accident in hopes of killing me. You thought I was the embodiment of his faithlessness. I understood that.”

He rose to his feet and took her hands into his own. “You have done nothing that needs my forgiveness.”

Tears stung her eyes. She pulled her hands free and cupped his face. “How did you manage to grow into such a good man with all that you have suffered?”

“Life gave me good role models.”

Robb cleared his throat. “Mother, why would Father agree to be Robert’s Hand if he knew the rebellion was a lie?”

“He could never be certain that Robert knew Lyanna had spurned him for the Prince or if he truly believed she’d been taken. It wasn’t as though he could talk to him about it, not without endangering Jon. Aegon.”

“Jon. It is what I know. And it is what everyone else knows.”

Robb nodded in agreement. “Just because he’s a man now doesn’t mean the danger is passed. If anything, Rhaegar’s grown heir is more of a threat. Robert will hate him because of his birth and the lords will fear he means to take the throne.”

“Bugger that. Melt the damn thing to slag for all I care.”

Catelyn swatted his shoulder in a rebuke for the language. He grimaced and mumbled an apology. “We do need to keep this secret to ourselves, still. But you deserved to know the truth, especially given what happened to you in that other place.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Ned wanted to, but it was too grave a secret for a boy so young.”

“I understand. Just...the echo of childhood frustration.”

Rightly deserved.

“So, Brother,” Robb began with a slight smile, “what will the returned bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark do with his life? You are too old to be fostered as someone’s squire to learn the ways of knighthood. Robert might grant you legitimacy, if Father asks it, and he may then grant you a keep and lands of your own. There are some places still that could use a Lord to oversee them, especially if Winter is coming in truth.”

“Or I could serve the guard here. I earned a few noble titles in Skyrim, and by and large they proved a hassle. I’ve no trouble pledging my blade and loyalty to House Stark.”

Robb looked incensed by the idea. “Now that we know the truth of your blood? It would be a waste to make you a common soldier. A minor lordship at the very least!”

“I’ve no need for fancy titles. I’ve had my fill of them. And at any rate, I’ll be a long while teaching Maester Luwin of the things I learned in Skyrim. He is interested in the alchemy skills, and I’ve more than healing draughts to teach him. And I’ve things of use you may be able to learn as well.”

“Such as?”

“The two spells that every Nord warrior was sure to master: how to heal your own wounds and how to start a small fire. It should be simple enough for you to master.”

Her son seemed interested in that, greatly so. Cat secretly agreed that a common soldier was an unworthy position for a prince, but it may be all they could afford to allow. At least for now.

~***~

Theon gave a yelp of victory when he finally managed it. “There! The cut is gone! I did it!”

Jon smiled brightly, one hand idly scratching the ears of the albino wolf by his side. All his sibling-cousins had one and this one had been the runt of the litter, not expected to survive. Their father had been uninterested in keeping him as his own so the children had all cared for him. Once the wolf had met Jon, however, the beast appeared to claim the young man as his own, which he didn’t mind at all. Though he’d likely change the wolf’s name. ‘Snow’ just didn’t seem to fit him.

“Well done.”

Robb smiled. He’d picked the spell up more quickly. “It is clever, knowing how to tend your own wounds. A good skill for a fighter to have.”

“Even the Nords agreed. Most of them don’t trust magic, but they all at least learned that and how to do a minor fire spell.” Jon took up one of the books he’d brought for Luwin and cracked it open. “I wanted you to know how to heal your burns before you learned how to give them to yourselves. I was taught the opposite way. I don’t recommend it.”

Howls, long and loud, rang through the night. The white wolf turned his head curiously towards the window, ears perked forward. Robb sighed. “That would be Summer again. Mother doesn’t like her staying in Bran’s room and she carries on when she’s forced outside. I’d better see if I can settle her down.”

Theon glanced towards the window out of reflex and stiffened. “Fire! The storehouse is on fire!”

All three men abandoned their magic lesson, rushing from the room. Somewhere on the floor below, someone opened a door and Summer had taken the opening to rush in. She passed them on their way down and the white wolf peeled off to follow her as she ran towards her master’s bedside. They would deal with that later.

They joined the people outside in putting out the fire. Once it was under control Jon and Theon joined Robb in trying to determine how the blaze had started to begin with. They were questioning the few witnesses when a servant ran up, breathless and agitated and ranting about someone attacking Bran.

Their feet carried them up stairs and through halls until they poured through the door to Bran’s room. He was trying to stem the blood pouring from Catelyn’s hand. The albino wolf stood guard over the body of a stranger. Summer stood on her master’s bed next to him, her muzzle bloody from where she’d torn out the would be assassin’s throat. 

Jon coaxed Catelyn to drink one of the healing potions he’d brewed for Bran’s treatment while the boy recounted the story. The man had set the fire as a diversion. He hadn’t expected to find Bran awake, and he hadn’t expected Catelyn to remain in the room rather than go out to the yard with everyone else. He certainly had not expected a pair of dire wolves to come rushing into the room.

They watched over Bran more closely after that. A guard was always outside of his room. A day later, Catelyn summoned Robb, Jon, Luwin and Ser Rodrik to the godswood. 

“I believe Bran was pushed or thrown from that tower. That someone did this because he saw something they did not wish him to see.”

Fury and disbelief crossed the brothers’ faces. Bran was a child! Real men, honorable men, did not kill children. 

Rodrik’s mouth was a hard line. “Whomever sent the assassin is wealthy. The dagger he carried was Vylerian steel. Too fine a blade for a common cutthroat. Likely it was part of his payment.”

“This would have to be someone who was with the King’s party.” Catelyn’s expression was firm and determined. “Someone with much to lose. Eddard must be told, but this is not something that can be trusted to a raven. Someone must go to King’s Landing and bring him the news in person.”

Jon gave a sharp nod. “I will go.”

Ron stared at him in shock. “You can’t go to King’s Landing.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.” The rest was left unspoken. Because it would be too dangerous for him. Because if anyone suspected the truth about who and what he was, it would mean his death.

“You are the heir to House Stark, you should stay here. Father is already gone and Bran and Rickon are both young enough that they should have at least one parent close by, so Lady Catelyn should stay here.” He looked to her. “No one would question it should you find a way to send your husband’s bastard from your sight, and my loyalty is to this family. You should send me. No one would suspect it.”

She didn’t like it. Guilt still clawed at her from the way she had treated him in his youth. Still, he did have a point. “Losing you nearly destroyed my husband. Do not put him in a position to feel that pain again.”

Robb shook his head. “Mother...”

“Jon will go. Your father still has not been told of his return and will be joyed to see him. And he should know that Bran is recovering.”

Rodrick nodded. He had not been told the truth about Jon, nor had Luwin, so he saw it from a different view. “He is right. Few will, question Lady Stark wishing to have him away from Winterfell, and it would not be unwarranted for him to seek out the opportunities that may be afforded him in King’s Landing. He is a strong and skilled fighter. At court he could possibly seek knighthood or otherwise distinguish himself. His arrival would raise little suspicion.”

Robb ground his teeth and looked away from them, clearly unhappy with this plan. He went with Jon to his house and watched as he packed for the journey.

“I wish you would take a man or two with you.”

“I’ll have Ghost.” The albino wolf snuffled curiously at one of his master’s packs. “He’ll be intimidating enough for the both of us.”

“Ghost?”

“Snow didn’t really suit him.” He took a war hammer from one of the weapon racks and wrapped it up inside a fur.

“What’s that for?”

“A gift for the king. I wouldn’t wish to appear rude.” He set the wrapped bundle with other items and continued perusing the display cases and their collection of jewelry and finely crafted daggers. “Did your mother ever manage to make a lady of Arya?”

Robb let out a snort. “Not even close. It doesn’t help that Father lets her practice with a bow and scurry after us. She slips away from her needlework lessons any chance she finds.”

A warm smile touched the darker man’s face and he took a long dagger in a finely work leather hilt from one of the cases. “This should do, then.” He looked towards Robb and sighed. “Brother, I will be safe.”

“If they even suspect who you are...”

“They will not. Only Father and I will know, and neither of us will speak of it. To the people of King’s Landing I am nothing more than Lord Stark’s bastard. There will be no reason for them to see me as anything else.”

“This isn’t right. You are a prince.”

Jon arched a brow. “I seem to recall that the Targaryens were overthrown. I hardly think I can lay claim to such a title, nor do I wish to.”

“Overthrown by a rebellion based on falsehoods.”

“The Mad King needed to be stopped, Robb. It is tragic that my father was slain as well, but one of my grandfathers burned the other one alive.”

Robb winced at the words. That was true. He shuddered to think how heavy that truth must weigh on Jon. On how it had weighed upon his father all these years. How hard had it been for the honorable Eddard Stark to hold his tongue whenever anyone had spoken ill about his good brother?

“What of Sansa? Do you think she would like anything I have here or would she prefer I give her gold and jewels she can have crafted into something of her own taste?”

“Sansa it to be the next queen. One of those fancy circlets you have would suit her well. The gold one with the sapphires. Gold for the Lannisters and sapphire to match her eyes.” 

Jon nodded and went through his options until he found one that was sufficiently pretty. He frowned at it for a moment before carrying it upstairs, Robb at his heels. The other man watched as Jon placed it upon an odd table and leaned over it, chanting softly. There was a hum and a glow, then Jon took up the piece again.

“What was that?”

“An enchantment. Two of them. Now it will grant her some protection against poisons and will aid in healing, like the spell but now worked into the gold.”

“You can do that?”

“Aye. Dead useful skill to have. I’ll teach it to you when I return. In the meantime, there’s a ledger in my store room of all I possess that is already enchanted and where it is kept. It’s the red leather one. The black ledger is a record of everything else.” Jon pulled a heavy ring of keys from a pouch on his belt and offered it to Robb.

“What is that for?”

“It’s the keys to the house and all of the locksmith the various safes and lock boxes. All that I have is House Stark’s.”

Robb blinked at him. “Jon, you earned all of this. It could be the foundation of a life of your own.”

“Robb, Tsun is the servant of a god. Perhaps not one of the Seven and not one of the Old Gods, but still a deity. If a god from another place knows enough to tell me that Winter is coming, I’m going to take it to heart. Take what is here and shore up our stores. Purchase grain and supplies from Essos and the South. Make the North ready.”

Worry deepened the frown on Robb’s face. “I still think it unwise for you to go to King’s Landing.”

“You still fear they’ll figure out what I am?”

“I’m more worried you’ll fall prey to some brigand or blackguard. You’re prettier than most girls. They might not be able to tell the difference.”

Jon snorted in mirth and gave his brother a playful punch in the arm before gripping the same arm. “Make our people ready, Brother.”

“I will. Come home safe, Brother.”

“I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

Ned was struggling to reign in his frustrations as he tried yet again to understand how his friend had gone this far astray. The womanizing, the drinking, the kingdom in debt to the Lannisters which likely meant they were actually in debt to the Iron Bank. And that damned tournament was to start on the morrow. 

“The tournament is good for the local businesses.” Baelish had that irritatingly smug look on his face. “All the taverns are full and all the whores are walking bow legged.”

Which would be very good for the whoremaster.

The doors opened and Jory hurried in, his face flushed and eyes wide. Ned frowned. “What is it?”

Jory swallowed. “Your son, My Lord.” Ned’s heart froze. Had Bran died? “Your bastard. Jon! He’s here!”

He forgot how to breathe and a feeling of light headedness overtook him. Still, he rose from his seat fast enough to topple the heavy chair and hurried from the room. He was only faintly aware that the others followed him as Jory lead him to one of the keep’s many landings to where a man in armor black hair stood with an albino wolf at his side. Ned knew that wolf, the runt of the litter he’d let his children keep, the one they all took part in watching. The wolf knew him as well, yipping in greeting, tail wagging happily.

That made the man turn to face him, and the breath was knocked from his lungs. His sister’s eyes looked back at him, her dark hair framing his face. His features were long, like a Stark, but his practiced eyes could see the delicate sculpture of Rhaegar Targaryen as well, making him pretty, almost beautiful, instead of just handsome.

“Jon.” His voice was a whisper. He had dreamt this, of his nephew returning, more than once. He feared if he spoke to loudly he’d wake up again.

The man smiled, and that smile was warm. “Hello, Father.”

Eddard rushed forward and pulled the son of his heart into a crushing embrace. He had grown, but was still shorter than most men. Small in stature as his mother had been. As Arya was now. “I searched for you.” His voice cracked, thick with tears.

“I know. Lady Catelyn told me.” His voice was thick as well, but he dropped it to a point that Eddard only heard him because he was whispering against his ear when he added, “She told me everything.”

Ice flooded Ned’s bones. He knew? He knew and he still came here? If someone noticed the hints of Targaryen in his features, it could spell his doom. He pulled back to meet Jon’s eyes to see if by chance he misunderstood, but he saw the knowledge there. Knowledge of the truth, and none of the anger or pain he had expected should Jon ever learn it.

And a silent understanding that the secret should be held close to the heart and never uttered.

The tension released and Ned smiled, not caring who saw the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Ned! Seven hells, man, will you keep him outside all day!? Let me have a look at him!”

No. He didn’t want Robert to look at him. Didn’t want to risk his friend seeing him and realizing it was Lyanna’s child standing here. But he could not deny his king. He turned to the side, one hand on Jon’s shoulder and summoned a smile. No too difficult a task with the joy that still sung in his heart. “Your Grace, allow me to present Jon Snow, of House Stark.” Not the usual introduction one gave a bastard, but he had never shied away from openly claiming him.

Robert looked him over as he came down the steps towards them. “I remember when you vanished. Even here we heard of how your father mourned. You being back is like a dead man rising from the grave.” The king narrowed his eye under the crown. “You’ve certainly got the look of a Stark. And I remember that beast from Winterfell.” He nodded to Ghost.

“Aye, Your Grace. He sort of claimed me on my first night home.” Jon bowed respectfully. “It is an honor to meet you, Sire.”

“It’s good to have you here. Maybe your father will finally learn how to smile. I could scarcely believe it when I heard.”

Ned considered how fast the king had gotten here. “News flies swiftly in the Red Keep.” He hoped Jon heard the warning. Nothing was promised secret in these walls.

“Too swiftly at times. But you’ll be wanting time to speak. You and your boy will join the Queen and I for dinner.”

Inviting the Hand wasn’t unheard of, but to bring a bastard to the King’s table...

Jon knew this, too. “I would never dare to presume to intrude on your presence, Your Grace.”

“Others take me, he is your son. You Starks and your honorable manners. It isn’t a request, boy. It’s an order. You’ll be there with your father and you can tell us all where you’ve been.” The king slapped a meaty hand on Jon’s shoulder before chasing the other members of the Small Council away.

Ned looked Jon over and spied the two horses being held in place by a stable hand, one saddled and the other clearly used to carry what wouldn’t fit in his saddle bags. “Let’s get your horses and you settled. You can tell me everything.”

They unpacked the mounts and the geldings were taken away. Ned looked over the curious gear, a mix of leather, steel and what appeared to be bones. Jon’s sword also looked to be made of bone, with curious runes carved into it. Ned picked up a leather wrapped bundle and felt the tell tale hilt of a weapon. “A hammer?”

“A gift for the king. I felt I shouldn’t come empty handed.” Jon followed him, the heaviest of the packs sling over his shoulder and seemingly without strain.

The Hand’s quarters were nice, but they weren’t home. This place was too warm to be home. Ned dispatched a servant to prepare a room for Jon as they made their way to his sitting room. A jug of wine and a platter of fruits, cheese and bread were already waiting. “Where have you been, Jon?”

He saw the young man’s eyes dart to the door and windows. Good, he did understand him earlier. He knew he had to watch his words. “Another land, one far away from Westeros or Essos. It was called Skyrim, but that’s not the most important thing I have to say.”

“What is it. You have Snow with you, so you were at Winterfell. Did something happen with Bran?”

Ne’s heart froze until he saw Jon’s smile. “Bran is awake, Father. Awake and healing. Maester Luwin thinks he may even fully regain the ability to walk.”

A breath he didn’t know he’d been hold rushed out of him. Bran was alive and healing. And Jon...Jon still considered him to be his father, even knowing the truth. “That is wonderful news.” Ned poured them wine, tears stinging his eyes again as they settled down so that Jon could tell him what was safe enough to mutter inside the Keep’s walls.

It was nearly two hours later when his daughters burst into the room. Rather Arya ‘burst’ and Sansa followed at a sedate, ladylike pace with their Septa in tow.

Arya stared at Jon, eyes wide. She had only been five when he had vanished, crying herself to sleep for weeks afterwards. He’d been her favorite brother. Jon barely had time to stand before she flung herself at him, her arms wrapping tightly about his neck, face buried into his shoulder. “It is you!”

Ned laughed. “Don’t break him.”

“Arya! A lady doesn’t behave in this matter.” Mordane’s scowl was fierce, but she could never reign the wild girl in at home. She had even less chance now that they were so far away from Catelyn.

Jon smiled into Arya’s hair, hugging her tight before setting her on her feet. “I’m happy to see you’ve not changed much. I don’t believe you’ve gotten taller at all.”

She punched him in the arm, but grinned. “You’re one to talk.”

Ned watched as Jon rubbed Arya’s hair then looked to Sansa. She seemed uncertain of how to act. Social rules were important to her, and he knew too well what Septa Mordane thought of bastards. He would need to speak with Sansa when they were alone, when it wouldn’t bring her embarrassment in the eyes of others. He would not let her slight Jon out of a misguided sense of propriety.

“You will have plenty of time to ask Jon all the questions you want tomorrow. Tonight he is summoned to dine with the King.”

“But he just got here, and it’s ages until dinner!”

“Just enough time for him to rest and make himself presentable.”

“I do smell of horse and the road.” He motioned to the wolf. “Arya, would you take Ghost and get him something to eat?”

“You named him ‘Ghost’? I like it.” She called to the wolf, burying her face into his soft white coat before leading him from the room.

~***~

The King’s table was well set. Enough food for a gathering four times their size. Ned knew that Jon hadn’t told him everything out of concern of who might overhear them. They would need to find a chance to take a walk by the shore, where the open sand and terrain would prevent hidden ears and eyes.

“Does the boy have his wits about him still?” Robert poured himself more wine.

“Yes, Your Grace. He remembers nothing about climbing the tower or the fall, but Maester Luwin says that is often the case when dealing with a head injury. The teachings on such matters indicates that he likely will never recall those moments. Currently they are more focused on him recovering the use of his legs. He feels pain and sensation, and he was just showing the ability to move his toes before I left, which Luwin says is a good sign.”

“Lady Catelyn must be so relieved.” The Queen’s voice sounded genuine, though her smile did not reach her eyes. “She refused to leave his side for anything.”

“Yes, Your Grace, she is. She can finally rest. And eat. Robb said she hadn’t been taking care of herself properly due to the stress and worry.”

“Where have you been, boy? You’ve been gone for six years.”

“I found myself in a foreign place called ‘Skyrim’.”

Robert frowned. “I don’t know of any land by that name.”

“Neither had I. It wasn’t in Westeros or Essos, and was unaware of either. It was disconcerting.”

“What did you do?”

“I survived. Ser Rodrick taught us well. I was young, but I knew how to handle a blade well enough to keep myself safe. I learned all that I could to stay alive. In Skyrim that was no small feat.”

“What skills did you learn there?”

Jon licked his fingers and pinched out the candles in the centerpiece. As the royals and Ned watched on, he muttered a word and summoned sparks of flame that lit them anew. Cersei gasped. Ned’s mouth fell open. The king nearly choked on his wine.

“All soldiers in Skyrim learned this spell. Most of the people, actually. A simple spell to ensure you could always light a candle, torch or fire. They also learned another that helped heal minor cuts and wounds. The Nords, the people of that land, were distrusting of most magicks, but they all learned those two.”

Jon got up from the table and went to the leather bundle he’d left on a bench just inside the door. “I didn’t understand the aversion to spells, given they had no such qualms about enchanted weapons and objects.” He opened the bundle, slipped something small into the pocket of the surcoat Ned’s staff had managed to find for him and returned to the table with an expertly crafted hammer.

“For you, Your Grace. Frostfang. It was a gift to me from the jarl of Dawnstar as thanks for solving a problem plaguing his people. The hammer is enchanted to freeze the target, imparting greater damage.”

Robert hefted the hammer, testing it’s weight with a few swings, a white trail like breath in winter streaming behind in its wake. He looked around then struck a half eaten roast with the hammer. Cersei flinched, leaning back, but all could see the layer of frost that now covered the meat that had still been warm just seconds before.

“Ha!” Robert lifted up the hammer, gazing upon it in admiration. “Ha! Now that is a legendary weapon! What is it you solved that the man thought of such a prize?”

“An artifact left by a cult of a malevolent deity was causing the entire area to suffer nightmares. The people hadn’t had a full nights rest in nearly a year. Many were close to losing all hope or on the verge of madness. I found a man who knew the cause but didn’t have the strength to go it alone, the task was too dangerous. We joined forces to fight our way to the artifact and destroy it.”

“What happened to him?”

“He knew of it because he had been part of the cult and had been one of the ones to deploy the beginnings of the curse to start with. He had converted to a different faith of a goddess of healing and mercy. When we parted, he had set himself to claiming the old temple and rededicating it to his new deity in atonement for his past actions.”

The king nodded, still grinning over his new hammer.

Jon moved towards the queen, pulling the small object out of his pocket. “This is for you, Your Grace.” He offered her a golden ring set with pale stones. “Enchanted rings resize themes to the wearer. This type of ring was highly prized among the noble women of Skyrim. The enchantment is one of healing. It will banish headaches and bruising, heal cuts and,” he faltered, his face flushing in discomfort, “ease the discomforts of womanhood.”

She arched one golden brow, humor tugging at one corner of her mouth, and plucked the ring from his palm. She slipped it on and the large band did shrink until it was snug on her fingers. She blinked, expression thoughtful, the lifted her other hand to rub at her temple. “I have been nagged by that ache for two days. Now it is gone.” Cersei looked up at Jon. “A thoughtful and useful gift, Young Snow. Thank you.”

Jon bowed. “I am pleased to serve, Your Grace.”

“Tell us more of the Skyrim, boy.” Robert finally set down his new hammer, resting it upon a nearby table with care before pouring them all more wine.

And Jon told them of Skyrim. Of jarls and giants. Or elves and orcs. Of cat men and lizard men. Of crypts where dead men walked and of a black dragon that threatened to devour all men.

But he said nothing of The Voice.

And he said nothing of the Dragonborn.


	3. Chapter 3

“You never struck me as a man who would want a tournament in his honor.”

“It’s not my tournament. Robert is just using me as an excuse to have one.” Ned caught Jon’s expression, noting the slight upturn to his lips. “It’s not funny.”

“It is a little funny.”

Ned glowered. “What were you and Arya plotting this morning.”

“I made her a bargain. She was complaining that she was expected to join Sansa and the Queen for luncheon. I told her that if she behaved like a perfect young lady for the entire meal, I’d take her to the markets and buy her a present.”

“If she manages that, she’ll have earned one.”

Eddard looked out and over the bay. They were standing on a stone landing below the keep. It took dozens of steps to reach it from either direction and was one of the few places one could escape prying eyes. “What have you been keeping secret? I know something is weighing on you.”

Jon reached into his surcoat and withdrew a dagger, offering it to him. “A cutthroat infiltrated Winterfell with the intention of killing Bran. He carried this dagger.”

Ned’s face registered shock. He examined the blade. “Too fine for a common tough.”

“Ser Rodrik agreed. Likely part of his payment. Lady Stark believes it had to be someone in the party that came with the king. That Bran saw something he wasn’t meant too.”

Ned glowered, his fist squeezing tight around the sheath of the blade. “She thinks his fall was no accident.” Jon nodded in silence. “Then we will need to be clever. And alert. The guilty party may already fear this is what truly brought you here.”

Jon smirked. “Jon Snow, House Stark’s executioner. Do you think they know that a Northman swings the blade himself if he feels someone must die?”

“The serpents in this city have little comprehension of real honor. Living here is like drowning in muck. I never should have brought your sisters to this place.”

“Too late for Sansa. She’ll need to learn the way of things if she’s to be queen.” Eddard gave a snort that made Jon quirk a brow. “You sound displeased with the idea.”

“You’ve yet to meet the prince. He is not the kind of man I would want for either of my daughters. There is something...wrong with that boy.”

“Then why agree to the betrothal?” 

Ned sighed. “Because we hadn’t yet bound her to anyone else and it was what the king wanted. If she hadn’t been free he likely would have demanded Arya, though with her I might have been able to warn him off. Only a madman would try to order Arya to wed.” He shook his head. “That isn’t all you’ve been holding back, Jon. What else happened while you were lost?”

Jon sighed and told him about the title he’d stumbled upon in Skyrim. Of being declared Dragonborn. “They’re legends varied, but the general consensus was that the Dragonborn were people born with the soul of a dragon and were the only ones who could kill a dragon permanently. Otherwise the creatures could resurrect if one of their own kind knew how to summon them. They weren’t dumb beasts. They were intelligent and capable of great wisdom. They had a language of their own that men could learn. But they were...enslaved by the oldest of their kind. He had been defeated before, but only cast adrift on the currents of time, flung into the future. The only way to finally free them and perhaps give men and dragons the chance to live in peace was to kill Alduin. I spent years gathering knowledge and secrets, learning their language and honing my skills so that I would stand a chance against him.”

“You’re alive, is the dragon?”

“I defeated him.” Jon frowned. “I can’t be sure if it was permanent. With the other dragons, when they died their...the Greybeards said I absorbed their souls, which is why they stayed dead if killed by a Dragonborn. That didn’t happen with Alduin, so perhaps all I managed to do was buy Skyrim more time.” He pondered it further. “Although, our fight was in the Nord land of the dead, so perhaps Sovngarde kept his soul. He was an evil creature. I don’t think I would have wanted any part of him in me.”

“It is hard to believe but I know you aren’t lying or mad.”

“It was hard to live through. After fighting draugr and skeletons I’m more apt to believe those old tales of Nan’s. If Winter is truly coming then we need to be prepared. Wood and pitch, anything that will burn. I’ve yet to meet a corpse that could withstand fire.”

“I’d rather those tales remained tales, but many a fool has died because he refused to heed warnings.” Ned looked towards Jon. “I received word from Robb last evening after you retired.”

“Any word on Bran.”

“Getting stronger day by day. He didn’t mention the attempt on his life. I commend you both on being clever enough to realize such news needed to be delivered in caution.” Ned’s lips twitched. “He’s been going over your property.”

“I told him to. There should be enough to replenish what was used during the King’s stay and then some.”

“Oh, aye. More than enough. You said you accumulated some wealth. You failed to mention you returned home richer than the Lannisters. Cat, Robb and Luwin have calculated what is needed and advise they feel Winterfell should keep no more than a third.”

“There’s no need for thrift.” He stopped when Ned raised a hand.

“I’ve keeps and forts in the North that have garrisons but no true lord to oversee them. From what Robb tells me you’ve more than enough to pay wages and purchase supplies until you’ve made the land profitable. If you truly wish to help House Stark, it would please me if you would accept one of them.”

Jon grimaced, clearly not liking the idea. “If that is what you wish, Father. Do you have one in mind?”

“Steer Pointe. It is an island keep that stands guard over a large trade route and protecting ships on their way to White Harbor. It comes with a prosperous town and farmlands on the shore while the keep itself is on a island within sight of land. During a cold Winter the water freezes hard enough to march over. There are two garrisons, one on the land and one in the keep.”

“I thought the Coldgraves held Steer Pointe.”

“A sickness swept them last year. Only the eldest male survived it, and he took his own life in grief shortly before the King’s visit. I hadn’t the time to name another.”

Jon nodded. “Very well, then. As you wish.”

Ned tucked the dagger into his own surcoat. “I wish Robert was as agreeable. We’d best head towards the tourney. I may not want the damn thing, but I’ll be expected to put in an appearance. Besides, I wish to speak with Ser Hugh and he refuses to answer to anyone but a proper lord.”

Jon took up step beside him. “Who is he?”

“Jon Arryn’s squire, though he made knight rather quickly after his death. Apparently he is one of those who takes on airs after gaining nobility.”

“I’ve run into a few of those. Annoying.”

~***~

The stands were crowded with spectators, though the seats closest to the dais where the king sat had been set aside for the higher ranking lords. Sansa was seated there already, her septa on one side and Lord Baelish on the other. The second got up and surrendered his seat to Ned and moved down to the row below them sitting down next to Jon.

“How are you finding the city, Jon Snow?”

“Crowded. I fear that I fail to see the allure of cities. I try to avoid them when I can.”

“It’s been my experience that Northmen often do. I was admiring the circlet you gave to Sansa. It seems you did well for yourself while you were missing.”

Sansa was wearing the circlet. It gleamed against her red hair, the sapphires reflecting the morning light. She lowered her eyes demurely with a slight smile of quiet thanks when Jon caught her gaze. She’d been struck speechless when he’d given it to her the night before. Arya had been more lively about her gift. Her dagger had been enchanted by the necromancer he’d taken it from. The man had enspelled it to drain small bits of health from the target and use it to heal the wielder. A dark spell but a useful one for a petite young woman should she find herself in a position where she needed it. That spell could give his sister the edge she needed in a fight against a grown man.

“Every day was a fight to survive. Succeeding often resulted in rewards.”

“Will you be participating in the tournament.”

“I prefer not to. I am here to spend time with my lord father and sisters before returning to the North.”

“You won’t be staying with us, then.” Baelish looked surprised at that.

“No, Lord Stark has other duties he requires of me.”

“A loyal and dutiful son. Our Lord Hand is greatly blessed in his children.”

Ned had been watching the exchange. Jon needed to stand on his own with the lords. To interfere would indicate that he was either ashamed of his ‘bastard’ or that he considered him to still be a child and thus did not respect him as a man. “That I am. In all my children.” He gave Jon a gentle smile when he looked back and over his shoulder at him.

The joust was beginning and they returned their attention to the field. Jon found little use in the competition. He supposed there could be some use in charging an enemy on horseback with a lance or spear, but most fights were quickly reduced to brawls on your feet while wielding a sword. Or, if you were in the wrong place, wielding fire balls and bolts of lightning.

He took a look of the next two men. “He’s a large one.”

Baelish made a noise of agreement. “Ser Gregor Clegane. Most call him ‘The Mountain’.”

“I can see why.” Jon heard his father make a sound of disapproval and made note to inquire further when they were away from prying ears. 

“Sandor Clegane, the King’s Hound, is his younger brother. They say that Gregor gave him those scars. Sandor was playing with one of Gregor’s toys when he was a child and his brother put his face to the fire. The Hound doesn’t like to be reminded of it, so it is wise not to repeat the story.”

“Sounds like a kind and generous soul.” Jon had met men like that before. Bullies and thugs, the lot of them. They were worse when they had a title. It was always the small folk who suffered for them. Who is the other man?”

Ned spoke up this time. “That would be Ser Hugh.”

The young knight his father wanted to speak with. He looked like a child in comparison to his opponent. “I don’t hold high hopes for his chances.”

“Nor do I.”

And they were both right. Ser Hugh was no match for Clegane. He took a lance too high and the wood splintered, a large shard spearing the young knight though his neck even as he was knocked from his mount. Septa Mordane ushered Sansa away from the stands and back to the castle as Jon and Ned hurried from the stands. There was nothing he could do, and it made Jon feel useless. He’d never bothered to learn the greater healing spells, the ones that healed everyone near you as well as yourself, relying on scrolls and potions to heal allies. But he had no potions with him and his alchemy table was in Winterfell.

He had no tomes of greater healing magic, and the enchantments placed on objects couldn’t be wielded the same way. But perhaps if he worked with what he did know he could improve on it. It wasn’t as though he would be tied up searching out Word Walls, hunting bounties and performing tasks for various jarls any longer. He should have more time for study.

Jon pondered this as he made his way through the keep later, his steps taking him to the solar where Sansa, Arya and the septa practiced their needlework. He stood quietly at the door for a bit, smiling a little at Arya’s clear efforts to keep her tongue in check and be the perfect little lady.

“Septa Mordane, might I inquire about how Arya comported herself at luncheon?”

The septa looked up, eyes narrowed in his direction. She was of a more prudish school of thought, one that held the belief that bastards were evil and a threat to true born heirs. Sansa bit her lip, looking from her septa to Jon and back. The elder sister was torn between what her septa taught her, what their father told her and Jon’s behavior she had seen for herself. She wasn’t sure if she should follow the behavior of the other nobles and hold him in scorn or if she should embrace him as a sibling.

Arya had no such trouble. She leaped to her feet, her expression earnest. “I was perfect! I even used the correct utensils and never put my elbows on the table.”

Septa Mordane arched a quelling brow at her charge, which Arya failed to notice. “She was, for once, a well behaved young lady. I didn’t have to correct her once.”

Jon grinned. “Excellent. Shall I fulfill my part of the bargain, then?” He turned to the side, crooking an elbow out towards his sister. She whooped, tossed down her embroidery and ran to him. Mordane’s scoldings went unheeded as she placed a hand on his arm and walked out with him.

He escorted her to the Street of Steel, studying the various smithies as they walked along. Arya was munching from a paper funnel filled with spiced and roasted nuts, licking and butter from her fingers and enjoying the lack of Mordane’s scoldings. “What are we looking for?”

“The right smith. We want someone who isn’t afraid to step outside of the usual styles.”

“How will you know when you find the right one?”

Jon drifted towards a shop, eyes narrowed. “By what they have on hand. Excuse me,” he called to the shop keep, “May I see that helm?”

Arya peered in the same direction and saw the shining helm crafted to look like the head of a bull. The smith called to one of the apprentices to bring it over. 

“This gentleman wishes to see your helmet, Gentry.”

The boy was tall for his age, more of a man in build than most lords a few years his senior. The hammer and forge was doing well by him. Jon took up the proffered helm and studied it, tilting it towards Arya so she could see as well.

“See how well detailed it is? And how even and smooth her has worked the steel? Fine craftsmanship. I know only enough smithing to repair my weapons and armor. If I want quality gear, I look for someone with both talent and skill, like this.”

“It’s not for sale.”

The smith glowered. “Watch your tongue, Gendry.”

“It’s not. I made it for me.”

Jon smiled. “I don’t wish to buy it, I wanted to see how well you know your craft. Are you as good at making blades?”

“Better.”

“That’s good, because none of the ones you already have are the right size for her.” Jon tilted his head towards Arya. She blinked, then boggled up at him.

“For me? You’re getting me a sword?!”

“Aye, That is if Gendry here has nothing against forging a blade for a woman.”

The young smith shrugged. “The Dornish women who come through use weapons. And some of the Bravosi. A Bravosi blade may do her better. They’re lighter, more agile, and made for a smaller frame.”

Jon listened closely to the other man as he pulled out a sheet of parchment and charcoal to start sketching a blade design. “Something light and springy, better suited to a lady’s more graceful movements. The blade is slender, better suited to stabbing than the slashing motions used with out local blades. You’d do well to find her a teacher, if you want her to master using it.”

“Do you know of anyone who uses such a blade?”

“There’s a Bravosi who frequents the Rusty Axe. Syrio Forel. If he’s half as good as he boasts of being, he should do nicely.”

“I’ll look into him. Do you need anything of Arya?”

Gendry nodded. “I’ll need to take her measurements.” Gendry opened the half door and nodded to a wooden platform that would lift her up a good half foot from the floor. He couldn’t hold back a smile as she ran through it and hopped up. “Rather eager for a blade. Not very lady like.”

“I’m not a lady.”

Gendry glanced at Jon who hid a smile by drawing a hand over his mouth. “That’s a rather fine dress to be worn by ‘not a lady’.”

Jon grinned openly now. “And you are the Lord Hand’s daughter.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Well, I am high born, but I’m not a lady. Ladies are useless.”

Gendry glanced back at Jon, noting the fond smile the other man gave her. These two were not what he would usually expect from high borns. “If you’ll hold your arm out straight, mi....uh...miss.”

“Call me Arya.” She held out her arm as requested and he took her measure. Then again with it down to get the length from her hand to the floor and from the floor to her waist. He took the thickness of her wrist and length of her fingers as well. “Do you like being a smith?”

“I do. I like making things. Like taking molten metal and forging it into something useful.”

“And pretty, like the helm.” Gendry looked up to see the young lady peering curiously at the helm. He reached over to pluck it up and handed it to her, watching as she cradled it in her hands. “It’s smooth. How did you get the metal so smooth? Shouldn’t the hammer make it dimpled?”

He smiled, pleased by her sensible mind. “Aye. You have to work and polish the steel to smooth it. Takes time and care.”

“Even Sansa would like this.” Arya grinned up at her brother. “She could see her face in it.”

Gendry was pretty certain he wasn’t supposed to laugh at that, but a chuckle escaped him anyway. He watched her brother struggle not to smile and fail. “That’s not nice, Arya. She’s still your sister. You mustn’t hold it against her that the lessons your lady mother taught you both actually took with her.”

The little lady rolled her eyes and offered back his helm. “Embroidery is a useless skill. Septa always says I have the hands of a black smith. Maybe I should spend my days here and learn from Gendry.”

He had to turn away to hide his grin at that one. He usually found high borns to be annoying, though he liked their coin well enough. If more were like these two he might not mind them as much.

“We’ll take that up with Father. Now, how about we make our way over to the bakeries and see if we can find some of those lemon cakes you and Sansa like so much.”

Gendry accepted the coins that would act as a deposit for the blade and the man, Jon Snow (so a bastard, like him) agreed to bring her back in a day or two. Arya gave him a bright, excited smile before leaving with her brother, a skip in her step. 

Gendry hoped the other nobles didn’t crush the girl’s spirit. She was charming just as she was.


	4. Chapter 4

“I believe this is the first time I’ve seen you in anything other than black.”

Jon looked down at his new surcoat. “A gift from my sister Sansa. She thought to do something about my lack of clothing suited to the warmer weather of the south.” It was a handsome garment. Deep blue in color with the Stark dire wolf embroidered on the collar and elegant flourishes on the cuffs of the sleeves. “I’m awed by her skill with a needle.”

Renly Baratheon smiled in agreement. “It suits you.”

The two men made their way to the stands. Sansa and Ned were already there, Lord Baelish seated behind Sansa again. Something about that man made Jon’s skin crawl. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he didn’t trust the whore master. And he didn’t feel comfortable with the man taking such interest in Sansa. Very it could be driven by politics, wanting to get in on the next queen’s good side, or it could be something less seemly.

Sansa smiled as she noted he was wearing her gift, a pleased light in her eye. Baratheon saw it as well. “I was just complementing Young Snow on his new look. He says that he has you to thank for it. Well done, Lady Sansa. Well done in deed.”

“Thank you, My Lord. I feared my brother would succumb to the heat if something weren’t done.”

“That would have been a shame, what with how your father just got him back.” Renly clapped Jon on the shoulder before moving to take a seat on the top row of benches. Jon sat down next to his sister so that she was between him and Lord Stark. All the better to keep an eye on Lord Baelish. It also gave him a good seat when Ser Loras Tyrell stopped to give Sansa one of his signature roses and a few pretty word that made her sigh a bit. Like a dutiful brother, he gave his own exaggerated one in jest. She glared at him before tilting her nose up slightly and turning away.

“Careful, Sansa. You’re not free to flirt with every pretty face any longer.”

She sent an elbow into his side.

Renly’s voice prodded from above, humor in his words. “What of you, Snow? I’ve heard several of the girls in the castle simpering whenever you walk by.”

Sensing blood in the water, Sansa turned back with a smirk. “Our fathers’s man, Jory, says it’s always been that way. He says the women used to coo and fawn over Jon’s pretty hair and face even when he was only a boy.” 

Jon glowered, his flush reaching his ears. “Jory talks too much.”

Ned grinned. “They did. You were too young to remember, perhaps, but they did wonder over him, wishing their hair was as soft or that they had such lovely lashes. One nearsighted dame visiting the keep even said that he was the prettiest of my daughters.”

Jon gaped at his father in horror. Sansa grinned and turned her attention back to the field, victorious. Renly laughed.

This was the final day of competition and only the best fighters were left. Still, when it came time for the final bout, Ser Loras seemed almost a child next to The Mountain. Sansa clutched at their father. “Don’t let Ser Gregor hurt him.”

“Ser Loras rides very well. He will be fine.”

Jon heard Baelish and Renly place a bet on the joust, their banter light and in good humor. Then Ser Loras defeated The Mountain and everyone cheered.

Baelish leaned forward. “Ser Loras knew his mare was in heat. Quite clever.”

Sansa frowned. “Ser Loras wouldn’t do that. There is no honor in tricks.”

“No honor, but a lot of gold.”

Jon thought Baelish was correct in this matter. Loras’ horse had been fidgeting beneath him, reacting to Clegane’s stallion. Dangerous, to ride her. The stallion could have just as easily thrown off his rider in a frenzy to mount her.

The crowd was watching Ser Loras, but Clegane’s roar for a sword rang out over the applause. Jon’s attention shifted and he saw the larger man decapitate his horse with one blow and start stalking towards Loras. With another roar he attacked, bashing at the other knight until he knocked him from his horse.

Jon didn’t stop to think, he just moved. His sword was in his hand as soon as he had cleared the railing of the stands. His feet landed on the packed earth and began moving. The Shout left his lips before he realized he was speaking it. 

“Wuld!” Just the first part of Whirlwind Sprint. The full Shout would have propelled him too far. He just needed to get between Clegane and Loras. His sword deflected Clegane’s strike, shoving it aside. The hulk of a man roared and switched his attention to Jon. He towered over him by a foot or more, and he would have cowered most men.

But Jon had spent the last six years fighting actual giants.

He couldn’t kill Clegane. Shouldn’t. He shouldn’t kill Clegane. The man had powerful connections, his house a vassalage of the Lannisters. Killing him would cause trouble for his father and the Starks. So he had to defeat the man without killing him.

Disarming him would be a good start. Being faster would be as well. He could use a full Shout for either, but would need a minute to recover after one before the second. A minute was an eternity in a fight. 

Well, the bigger they were, the slower they were. Especially when wearing full plate armor.

“Zun Haal Viik!” The Shout burst from his lips, cracking like thunder and ripping Clegane’s sword from his hands. The man gaped dumbly as his blade soared to land far away on the sands of the pit. Jon took advantage of his distraction to take a kneeling slide. He thrust his sword between the larger man’s lower legs and twisted, knocking him off balance and sending him down to fall onto his back. Still off balance from losing his sword for no clear reason, he wasn’t able to fall properly. The breath was knocked from his lungs, non fatal and painful to recover.

Jon had just gotten back up when the Hound made it to his side, his own sword pointed at the Mountain’s throat. “Give me a reason, brother.”

Clegane glared up at his brother’s scarred face, hate burning in his eyes.

“Enough!” Robert was on his feet, his expression a mix of anger and admiration. He stared at Jon as Loras got back to his feet. The golden haired man looked at Jon as well.

“You saved my life.”

Jon took the opportunity to look away from the King’s uncomfortable gaze. “It was nothing. I couldn’t stand by and watch you be murdered.”

Ser Loras blinked, then grabbed the hand that wasn’t holding a sword and lifted it up, declaring Jon the victor. The stands erupted in cheers and shouts, people rising to their feet to applaud. The king joined them, his face spread into a bright smile.

“Did you see him?” Robert’s voiced roared over the crowd. “Did you SEE your boy, Ned?”

Jon looked towards his father. Lord Stark’s face was pale, but he clapped along with everyone else. “Aye, Your Grace. I saw him.”

~***~

Even in Skyrim he had never gotten used to admiration and praise. He’d always fidgeted whenever the bards started to sing the songs written about him, to the point that he would take his meals in his room at whatever inn he found on his journeys, eager to be out of sight of the men and women who thought him their savior. 

He was just as uncomfortable under the attentions of Ser Loras and his admirers. 

Lord Renly had ordered wines from his personal stores brought to the pavilion where Jon was seated between him and Ser Loras. The two men were close friends, and perhaps more if he wasn’t misreading the subtle signs. Either way, Renly Baratheon was thankful that Jon had intervened and stopped Clegane from killing him. 

“You must let us repay you, Snow! Name it! Anything you wish.”

“I am grateful for the offer, My Lord, but I desire no reward.” Why had his father abandoned him to this crowd? Surely he could have returned after escorting Sansa to the Keep.

“Come now. I just won one hundred gold dragons off Lord Baelish. I need something to spend it on. We can take pity on the man and visit his establishment. Pay him some of it back.”

Loras gave Renly an odd look, but Jon was quick to dismiss that idea. “I appreciate the offer, My Lord, but I do not care for such places.”

“Oh? Are such things against a Nothern man’s sensibilities?”

“I know what it is like to be a bastard, My Lord. I swore to myself long ago that I would never risk fathering one of my own.” A bit too blunt, perhaps, but the truth. “I must apologize, but I have an errand to complete on the Street of Steel before returning to the castle. I am glad to have been able to be of service to you, Ser Loras.”

The Knight of Flowers smiled. “I am honored to have met you, Jon Snow. I would welcome a chance to spar with you soon.”

“I would appreciate the exercise.” He bowed slightly to both men and extricated himself from the growing party. 

He made his way to the Street of Steel and to the forge. Gendry was working on a traditional Westerosi broad blade, but set down his hammer when Jon called his name. 

“I finished your blade last night.” He went to the side to take the slender blade from the wall. “Your lady sister didn’t join you today?”

“Arya is consigned to a solar and the teachings of her Septa today. I’ll likely hear hours of complaints tonight.” Jon accepted the graceful blade. “This is lovely. A work of art.” He hefted it on his hand, amazed at the relative lightness of it. “This should raise her spirits.”

“I wouldn’t mind hearing how she likes it. I’ve never made a sword for a high born lady before.” Gendry accepted the rest of his payment. “It has been rather lively here the past few hours. Are you the same Jon Snow they say took down The Mountain?”

Jon grimaced. “Even here? I hoped I could outrun those tales.”

“Not a story like that. There are a lot of people who don’t like Gregor Clegane. Word of it is spreading like fire.”

He sighed. “I shall seek the privacy of my father’s residence, then. Thank you for your skill and time, Gendry.”

“Thank you for your custom, Jon Snow.”

Jon wrapped the blade in a scrap of leather offered for just that purpose and made his way through the streets to the castle, giving polite nods to passers by who called to him and a shy, uncomfortable wave to a trio of pleasure girls who called to him from the balcony of a brothel he had to pass en route. 

There was a brief pause at the entrance where some of the castle guards stopped him to chat. They had heard the news from the King’s Guard. Great. And the story was already growing. Now, instead of just disarming Clegane and making him lose his balance, he apparently rushed out onto the field with a mighty roar, leapt fifteen into the air and brought his sword down upon Clegane’s head, cleaving his helmet in two. Jon assured them it was nothing so glorious and made his way to his father’s house.

He found Eddard Stark in his study, staring pensively into the hearth.

“I can’t believe you left me there with them. Baratheon turned it into a party. I almost never got my way free.”

Ned looked up, his eyes worried. “The King wanted to speak with me. About you.” He was tapping a scroll against his knee.

Jon frowned. “I’ve caused trouble, haven’t I. The encounter with Clegane has done something. That was not my intention. I only thought to stop him from killing Ser Loras.”

“I know, and you were in the right to act as you did. Robert was impressed that you had the courage to do so. Few men are willing to face Clegane.”

“Then what did he want?” Jon took a seat across from his father. 

“He asked me if I was certain you are you. If I was sure you were my son and not an imposter?”

“What did you say?”

“I told him that I know my own blood. That I had no doubt that you are Jon.”

“Did he take that answer?”

Ned looked at the scroll. “He did.” He handed it to Jon.

Jon unrolled the scroll and read it. His jaw dropped. “He legitimized me?”

“He did.”

“But, why? Did you ask for this?”

“I did not. Perhaps I should have, but it always felt like...”

“It would have felt like a lie.”

“More betrayal than lie. My sister chose your father and married him. It is hard enough to hold my tongue whenever someone besmirches my good brother. I could not bring myself to steal his child in truth, even if I know you as my son.”

“Why now? Does he want me in his King’s Guard?”

Ned sighed. “No. That would be less dangerous. Robert wants to ensure the loyalty of House Tyrell.”

Jon’s frown deepened. “As in Ser Loras? I saw nothing to call his loyalty into question. He and a Lord Renly are thick as thieves.”

“And therein lies the problem. There are...rumors. Whispers that Ser Loras prefers the company of men to that of women. Some men of those proclivities can still function with a woman and father an heir, but not always. If he cannot, then he will have to take his heir from his sister’s children, Lady Margery. Also in that case, the Tyrells will not want her to move too far from High Garden, and Winterfell is as about as far as one can get.”

His stomach dropped. “He wants a Stark son he can keep in the south.”

“Aye. He’s already sent a raven to the Tryells to tell them of his wishes.”

“Did you tell him that we’ve already discussed my future?”

“I did. I told him I have a keep and town in a strategic position on the coast that needs a lord whose loyalty is without question and that you’ve already agreed to go there. I told him that you have always been ill at ease with nobles and their rules, that you are better suited to a quiet life in the North.”

“He didn’t believe you?”

“He said for me to choose another lord. That the Lady Margery is famed for her grace and personality and will be more than able to help you with any social graces you may lack.”

“Surely the Tyrells will see me as an insult. Doubtless they already have a husband chosen for her.”

“Not that has been announced. And you are no longer a bastard but a recognized son of House Stark. You also saved the life of the next Lord Tyrell. It would be churlish for them to refuse when the king has made his preference known. By law they can refuse, but it would not go well for them.”

A sigh escaped Jon and he sat back in the high backed chair, his head resting against the padded leather cushion. “This was the one positive thing about being a bastard. Unlike the others, I never had to fear being married off for some strategic alliance or deal.”

That got a slight, brief smile from Ned. “Aye, in matters of the heart the small folk are greater favored. But you can find love in an arranged marriage. Catelyn and I have.”

“And the king wanders to every bed but that of his wife.”

“It’s possible to find love, but it doesn’t always happen. A good deal depends on how you treat one another. I will admit my marriage became far happier once I admitted the truth of your origins.” Ned looked at his dark haired son. “Margery is said to be the loveliest woman in all of Westeros, even more beautiful than the queen. And clever. Many a man will envy you. And this could work in our favor. Winter is coming, and Highgarden produces most of our food. It could serve well to have you there. And there is still the chance she is betrothed and they have not announced it. They may still find a way to get her out of this.”

“We can hope.” Jon’s fingers drummed the wrapped parcel on his lap.

“What is that?”

He looked down and unwrapped the blade. “It’s the sword I had made for Arya.” He offered the slender blade to his father hilt first. Ned tested it’s weight, watching the firelight dance off the polished metal. 

“A graceful blade. Light and quick, like her.”

“I have a lead on a potential blade master to teach her, if he doesn’t mind instructing a girl. And that you are willing to allow it, of course.”

Ned smiled fondly. “If I don’t, she’ll just do it anyway. Better to have her learn properly. Who is the man?”

Jon told him of the Bravosi man Gendry mentioned and Ned said he’d see to it himself. Better it be done by him so that no one could call it into question. He gave the blade back so that Jon could give it to his sister. He rose and turned to go, but stopped. “Father?”

“Yes?”

“Promise me this won’t happen to Arya.” Jon turned his grey eyes to Ned. “She’s not like other high born girls. She’ll never sit demurely and be silent. There are few men who will understand or accept her. Some would try to force her to comply, some might even go so far as to raise their fists to her. I don’t want her to die either at her husband’s hands or by execution because she had to kill him in self defense. Just...let her find someone who understands her. Who can accept her as she is. Even if that man isn’t a lord.”

He understood Jon’s concern. “I will keep Arya’s heart in mind. Her husband will have to want her as she is, wildness and all.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you’ve not realized it, yet, I’m going by the show. I haven’t read all the books yet and keeping track of all the adaptations and changes between the two is more than I have free time for.
> 
> That said, there may, on occasion, be a hint of a book canon. If it fits the story. But for this setting we’ll go with show canon, which only kept Loras and Margery.

“Why did Jon have to go away? He just got here!”

Sansa let out a weary sigh. “Arya, he went to Highgarden because he is to marry Lady Margery.”

“But what if he doesn’t want to marry her? What if she’s stupid and useless?”

“She is NOT stupid and useless. She’s beautiful and graceful and everything a proper lady is supposed to be. Jon is very lucky the King betrothed them. And stop fidgeting!”

Arya glowered. “Why do I need a new dress anyway? What’s wrong with the ones I have?”

“The Tyrells are very important. None of your other dresses are nice enough for the wedding.”

“Jon doesn’t care if I wear a dress to his wedding.”

Sansa rolled her eyes as she tried to pin the hem of the skirt just right. “You can’t know what Jon thinks.”

“I wager I’d know better than you. Jon wouldn’t care if I showed up in his hand-me-down trousers and covered in mud.”

“Margery would care.”

“I don’t care what some useless lady thinks.”

“Arya! Stop being difficult!”

“What is all the fussing about?” Ned came into Sansa’s room to find Arya standing on a foot stool as her sister fitted a new gown for her. “That is a lovely color, Sansa. An excellent choice.”

“Thank you, Father. Nothing she had was good enough for the wedding.”

“Why does Jon have to marry Margery Tyrell?”

“Because it is the will of the King.”

“But what if he doesn’t like her? What if she’s stupid? Or ugly?”

Ned fought a smile while Sansa gasped in outrage. “Arya! Margery Tyrell is a known beauty! The call her the Tyrell Rose! Jon will be happy to have her as his wife!”

“Jon doesn’t care about beauty. He would want someone fierce and strong. Someone who can fight.”

“Ladies don’t fight.”

“Good thing I’m not a lady! Jon won’t be happy with some silly high born. He should be allowed to find a woman who knows how to swing a sword. Why does he have to marry a lady? Maybe he’d be happier with a baker or a shepherdess.”

Ned sighed. “Jon has been legitimized now, and is considered to be a noble himself. He is of age to marry and the King feels that it will benefit the realm for the Starks and the Tyrells to join. This is the way of things.”

Arya scowled and he felt as though he were looking upon Lyanna again. “I don’t see why he had to be legitimized. He was just fine as a bastard. I like bastards.”

Sansa gave her an irritated look. “You’ve never met one other than Jon.”

“That’s not true. I met one in the city. Gendry. He’s the one Jon hired to make my sword and he was perfectly nice, just like Jon. Polite and clever and talented. He made a helm that looks like the head of a bull that he’s worked so smooth that it shines like a mirror.”

“It probably makes up for him being old and ugly.”

“Sansa...” Ned said in a chiding tone.

“He’s not old! He’s the same age as Jon. And he’s handsome. Your stupid Joffrey would look like a pale maggot compared to him!”

Sansa looked about ready to claw her sister’s eyes out.

“Arya, that’s enough! It won’t do to insult the prince, especially not inside the castle. Sansa, you shouldn’t judge a man you’ve never met. You remember what we discussed when we talked about Jon?” His elder daughter nodded. “What did we say?”

“That the child cannot help the circumstances under which they are born. Being a bastard does not make a man evil. You should always judge a man by his actions, not by his birth.”

“That is right. You do not know this Gendry, and what your sister knows of him is that he treated her with politeness and that he is good at his trade. Though I am a bit worried that she noticed he was handsome.”

Arya frowned. “But he was.” She delivered it matter of factly, without any starry eyes or wistful sighs. It was just a fact she noticed, which did put Ned a bit more at ease.

“You can’t marry a blacksmith. You have to marry a lord.”

Arya scowled at her sister. “Who said anything about marriage? I can notice a boy is handsome just because he is, and I can notice a girl is pretty just because she is. And why do I have to marry a lord!”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Because you are the daughter of a noble house. We have to marry lords.”

“You’re marrying a prince. Isn’t he good for two or three lords? You marry Joffrey and I’ll marry a blacksmith. That way I’ll always have a sharp sword.”

Ned ran his hand over his mouth and beard to keep his smile hidden. That was so typical of Arya’s logic.

Sansa jumped on it in a flash. “Ha! So you DO think he’s more than just handsome!”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just being stupid.”

“It’s late, for both of you. Sansa, you’ve got three weeks before we have to set out for Highgarden. You can work on the gown later. Both of you should be to bed.”

He kissed Sansa goodnight after she had taken the half finished dress off her sister and folded it away before ushering Arya out and to her room.

“Does Jon really have to marry, Father? Doesn’t he get any choice?”

“Jon is an honorable man and loyal to his family and to the realm. Were he to refuse the King’s wishes it could harm us all. He will do his duty.”

“But what if she doesn’t like him? What if she hates him because he was born a bastard and is mean to him?”

Ned lifted her about her waist and set her onto her bed, crouching down to meet her eyes. “Do you think anyone could hate Jon?”

She frowned. “Well, not normal people. But these Southerners are strange. They say one thing to your face and then whisper mean things behind your back. I don’t like it here.”

Would that Sansa had a measure of her sister’s caution. “I know, Arya, but this is where I am needed, and I need you to help keep my spirits up. Unless you are going to abandon me for your blacksmith.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s not MY blacksmith. He’s just a blacksmith.”

~***~

Jory looked around the street with and over abundance of caution. You shouldn’t be out here my lord. There’s no telling who has eyes where.”

“Let them look.” Ned dismounted and made his way to the blacksmith shop. Jon Arryn had come here more than once before his death, and he wanted to know why. The smith, an older man who looked as though the smoke from his forge had preserved him as one might smoke meat met him.

“Good day, I am Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King. I hoped I might speak with you.”

“Tobho Mott, m’lord.”

“I understand that Jon Arryn came to speak with you before he died.”

“The former Hand did call on me, m’lord. Several times. I regret to say that he did not honor me with his patronage.”

“What did Jon Arryn want?”

“He came to see the boy.”

“I’d like to see him, too, please.”

The smith stepped aside. “Gendry!” The name tickled Ned’s memory. Arya’s blacksmith? A young man, about the same age age Jon and Rob, came forward. “Here is his. Strong for his age. He works hard.”

Ned took in the dark hair, stubborn jaw line and blue eyes. There was something familiar about him. “You’re the smith who crafted my daughter’s sword?”

“Yes, m’lord, as your son requested.” 

He could tell by the set of his jaw that he thought he was about to be scolded. “It was excellent work. I believe it has become her most prized possession. Jon said you told him where to find her knew dancing instructor, too. Thank you for that.”

Gendry frowned. “Dancing instructor? I don’t know any dancing instructors.”

Ned smiled. “We call them dancing lessons so her septa can pretend not to be offended.” That made the young man smile back. “What did Jon Arryn want from you?”

“Just asked me questions is all.”

“What sort of questions?”

“About my work. Did I like it here. Later he asked about my mother. Who she was and such?”

“Who was your mother?”

Gendry shrugged. “She was my mother. She died when I was young. She had yellow hair and used to sing to me.”

The niggling sense a familiarity finally coalesced for Ned. “Look at me.” Gendry met his eye and shock thrilled through him. “Who was your father?”

“I dunno. Never have.”

Ned gave a slow nod. “It is an excellent blade, the one you forged for Arya. Are you as good at armor?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“Show him the helm you made, Gendry.”

He went back to fetch the bull head helm and passed it to him. Ned smiled slightly at his reflection in the polished steel. “Arya mentioned this as well. She was quite impressed.”

“She seemed a clever girl, m’lord. Sensible.” Ned looked up quickly and Gendry lowered his eyes. “I meant nothing by it.”

“I take no offense.” He handed the helm back. “What think you of a high born girl learning to use a sword?”

Gendry shrugged. “I see nothing wrong with it. Why shouldn’t she learn how to protect herself?”

“Some would say that’s what guards and soldiers are for.”

“Soldiers go to war. Guards can be killed. What then? Her knowing which end of the sword is the dangerous one could save her life. I see nothing wrong with that.”

A smile threatened to break Ned’s usually solemn expression again. “Nothing wrong indeed. Thank you for your time.” He watched Gendry walk back to the forge, his mind already turning. Mott peered at hm curiously.

“Something the matter, m’lord?”

“No, nothing is the matter. I may have need of him later, however. If I do, I will send my man, Jory down to fetch him.”

“Gendry isn’t one to cause trouble, m’lord. Whatever you think he’s done...”

“He’s in no trouble, I promise you. I mean him no harm, but there is something I must see to first.”

Mott looked less than convinced but nodded. “Aye, m’lord.”

Ned walked away and went back to the horses and Jory.

“Did you find something?”

Ned took the reigns of his horse. “King Robert’s bastard son.”

~***~

“You could try to not look as though you’re riding to your execution.”

Jon blinked and looked to the man riding to his left. “I’m sorry. I was thinking.”

“You were brooding.” Loras Tyrell’s lips were twisted into an amused smirk. “You’ve been brooding since your father informed you of your betrothal. Men all over the seven kingdoms would do almost anything to wed my sister and you behave as though you’ve been exiled to the Wall. I may have to be incensed on her behalf.”

“I would have thought you would be upset I was being sent to wed her. Surely she would prefer a high Lord with lands and a castle of his own than a lord’s bastard with nothing to his name.”

“That would make her some high lord’s wife, but it would also mean she had to go away. Then my father would miss her and whine about it. I would miss her. And Grandmother would be even more of a thorn tongued shrew about it.”

Nonsense. It was the way of high born children. They were married off to seal peace accords and trade deals. Used to solidify alliances or increase wealth. Jon being sent to the Tyrells was an insult and both he and Loras knew it.

They grew close enough to finally see Highgarden. A handsome castle. White stone crowned by greenery. It lacked the cold, solid strength of Winterfell’s visage and the bloody menace somehow projected by the Red Keep. This castle looked like something out of one of Sansa’s stories. All it needed was a golden princess sitting at her window and taking her long hair with a silver comb.

They rode on until they were let through the three different gates. Highgarden was built in circles of walls with an elaborate hedge maze between the first and second. Ghost might enjoy that. There was no telling how many hares and other potential prey hid there. He deserved some fun after he’d been so very good at not scaring the horses. Jon’s mount was from Winterfell and had grown used to their dire wolves, aware that they were no more threat to him than the keep’s dogs, but the Reach mounts only saw a predator.

Mace Tyrell met them in the courtyard. He was a rotund man in fine clothes and with white hair. He smiled brightly as they dis,ousted. “Loras, my son! I have missed you!”

Loras walked towards his father, the men wrapping each other into a strong hug. “I’ve missed you as well, father.” Mace laughed heartily and squeezed him tight once more before letting him go. “Father, allow me to present Jon Stark from House Stark, son of Lord Eddard Stark.”

Mace’s expression became decidedly cautious when looking at Jon and near fearful when he saw Ghost. “Gods’ blood, it is true! Starks keep dire wolves at pets!”

“More companion than pet.” Jon put a hand on Ghost’s shoulder. “Be polite.” The wolf kept his tail lowered and did his best not to look threatening. He did a half way passable job at it. “It is an honor to meet you, My Lord.”

Mace’s eyes darted between Jon and Ghost fretfully as he clasped arms with him in greeting. “Welcome to Highgarden, Jon Stark. My son wrote and told us how you saved him from murder at the hands of the Mountain. We are grateful.”

And therein lay the rub. He saved the life of the heir to Highgarden and the heir is more important than the daughter. In the eyes of most, at any rate. Accepting him as Margery’s husband would not be an unexpected sign of gratitude. His father had been correct when he’d said that the sentiments could turn against the Tyrells is they refused the King’s wishes. He and Margery were just victims of circumstance . “I am honored to have been invited into your home, My Lord.”

“You must be tired from your journey. Come! Let’s get you to your rooms so you can rest up and get ready for tonight’s feast.”

Jon offered to keep Ghost in his rooms to instead of the kennels or stables so as not agitate the animals. Fortunately the rooms given to him were spacious and within the same wing as the Tyrell family. It was the kind of setup meant for sharing, complete with two wardrobes, one slightly larger and clearly meant for a woman. It didn’t take an intelligent man to realize that these were the rooms that were intended for him after the wedding. Were the Tyrells truly so accepting of things or did they fear if they failed to be courteous hosts word would get back to King’s Landing?

Wine, fresh bread and cheese were brought to him, as well as a pair of skinned rabbits from that morning’s hunt for Ghost. A copper tub was in one part of the suite and hot water was brought in. Jon bathed and rested before making himself presentable for the evening meal. 

Loras came and fetched him. Ghost was welcomed. He had written to his family about the wolf during the flurry of ravens that had gone back and forth after the King’s decision and had assured them that he had caused no trouble in his stay at King’s Landing. People still shied away in the halls as they walked past, but he continued to be on his best behavior. As long as no one threatened Jon, Ghost was content to keep his teeth covered.

The main hall of Highgarden was bright and airy, taking full advantage of the warmer climate. Jon walked in the Loras, Ghost at his side. The other man called a warm greeting to a matron seated at the head table. “Grandmother, you are lovelier than ever.”

“And you are as full of shit as ever.” She tilted her face up so that Loras could place a kiss on her cheek before she peered around him to look at Jon. “Well, if nothing else, the children will be lovely. Come here, boy. Let me have a better look at you.”

Jon finally realized how a prized stallion must feel when a breeder was inspecting him Olenna’s sharp eyes looked him over thoroughly, calculating. Assessing.

“The Prince That Should Have Been.”

Ice curled in his stomach. Jon hesitated a moment before daring to speak. “I beg your pardon, My Lady?”

Olenna reached out to a serving platter without looking and plucked a halved fig. “There were two lord’s that walked into the throne room the day the war ended. Your father did us all a disservice when he got back on his horse and went home. The North got their warden back and the rest of us were stuck with a fat oaf who spends all his time drinking and whoring.” She delivered it matter of factly, and Jon felt himself relax a bit.

“My Lord Father has no desire to rule.”

“Of course not! He’s a damn Stark. They say that the first King in the North had to be wrestled to the ground so that the lords could shove the damn crown onto his head. That’s why they follow your family. A reluctant ruler is less likely to abuse his power, but it takes more than just a reluctant ruler. He also needs to be honorable. Eddard Stark is both. You were his only misstep and he always did right by you. He would have been a far better king.”

Well, he certainly knew how she felt on the matter. “I am hopeful that he never has to be. It would make him miserable.”

“And you, boy? What think you of your change in fortune?”

He struggled to find the right words. Something truthful but not insulting. “I think the King is making too much out of something any decent man would have done. Ser Clegane lost his sword and isn’t overly bright. I was able to use that to my advantage to bring him down.”

Olenna’s brow went up. “Oh, is that so? Any decent man would have done it? And who else leapt from the stands to challenge Clegane for my grandson’s life?”

“I am sure someone would have. His actions were shocking. And I’m very fast.”

She snorted. “Avoid politics, child. You can’t lie for shit.” She motioned for him to sit down next to her. “Keep me company. I’ll be acting as your chaperone tonight, lest you and Margery get any funny ideas in your fool heads.”

Jon accepted the chair, though he knew it was dangerous. His weeks in King’s Landing had taught him much, but he doubted he was ready to take on someone like the Queen of Thorns.”


	6. Chapter 6

The ladies of Highgarden frightened him. 

Olenna watched him as though she knew all his secrets. The woman had seen much in her years. She’d seen the fall of the Targaryens and the rise of Robert Baratheon. She’d seen lords rise and fall. The Tyrells had backed the throne during the rebellion though he had the impression she wasn’t sad to see the Mad King die. He was forever watching what he said around her. When she had called him the Prince Who Should Have Been, his heart had nearly failed on him.

Margery was just as dangerous as her grandmother.

His betrothed was every bit as lovely and graceful as everyone claimed. She also had that predatory feel to her that her grandmother possessed. She was a woman trained from childhood to use her femininity to her advantage. Though he may not know it, tying her to a man with no political ambitions was possibly the best tactical move Robert had ever made. Margery would be a serious threat if married to a more powerful man.

As it was, she seemed determined to make the best of her present situation. And when she had caught him lighting his candles with a wave of his hand, something so second nature to him that he hadn’t even thought about it before he’d done so, she’d insisted that he teach her.

“You’re going to let him throw fire at you?” Olenna was watching from an arbor, fanning herself negligently as she watched on.

“To see that I do it properly. Jon wouldn’t hurt me, Grandmother. And the first thing he taught me was how to heal my own injuries.” Margery’s eyes were bright with a mix of eagerness and nerves.

Jon gave her a nod. “When you’re ready.”

She nodded back, took a breath and raised the warding spell. It shimmered before her like a warping of light. Jon gave her a moment to get it steady before testing it by sending a ball of fire from his own hand. One. Then another after holding a breath. The ward remained steady, so he sent three more in rapid succession. 

The spell held. Margery yelped in victory before releasing it. “I did it!”

Jon smiled and nodded. “You did. That ward should guard you from arrows and sword strikes as well. A shield you can always have with you.”

Margery let out a most unladylike squeal and closed the distance between them. One moment he was quite alone, the next he was engulfed in soft brown curls, silk skirts and the sweet scent of flowers as his betrothed soundly kissed him. He just barely managed to remain standing.

“Oh, curse my many years that they have made my vision so poor! I cannot even see the hand in front of my nose, let alone see that two young people don’t do anything untoward.”

Jon felt the blood rush to his face. Even his ears were burning.

“You should let Jon teach you as well, Grandmother.”

“I’m too old to learn new things. If we’re attacked I’ll simply stand by you while your husband and brother defend us.” Olenna plucked a plum from the platter. “Besides, I’m far past my days of kissing pretty men. Enough study for now. Get over here and help me eat all this.”

Margery took the seat next to her grandmother, a slight sheen of sweat on her skin. “It’s tiring.”

“You will get stronger with practice. It’s like any skill. You get better over time.”

Olenna studied him. “Tell us more about this Skyrim. It sounds like a most terrifying place.”

“It was. As cold and harsh as the North, even more so in the far reaches. At first I thought perhaps I’d somehow been sent over the wall. They had mammoths and giants, which the Watch says live there. And bears larger than I thought possible. But there were also large cats, easily as big as a fully grown dire wolf, though the strangest creatures I found were the mud crabs.”

Margery spread a paste of ripe olives and peppers over a slice of hard toast. “Mud crabs? What is odd about a crab?”

“They were the size of a medium dog and very aggressive. There were also the slaughter fish, like pikes but with more teeth and eager to use them, and spiders as large as this table on average, though with a few as large as a small carriage.”

Olenna gave a shudder. “I detest spiders.”

“I wasn’t overly fond of them either, but their venom was valuable. I was sure to harvest it if I had to face one, either to use myself or to sell to the alchemists.” He frowned. “There are quite a few things I’ll no longer be able to find. I suppose I’ll have to experiment with other things and see if I can uncover substitutes.”

The Queen of Thorns gave him a curious look. “How so?”

“Oh, well, I know the minor healing spells, but magic takes power. The more you use it in a fight, the more it drains you. There are potions that can be made that heal just as effectively if not more so. They don’t weigh much to carry and by using them I could concentrate on more destructive spells. When it came to healing, I concentrated on alchemy. As for as Restoration Spells, the school healing belongs to, I focused mainly on wards and those that dealt damage to the undead.”

Margery frowned. “Undead?”

“Yes. This is the part where you’ll think me mad, but in Skyrim the types of things they told us children are real. Most of what I encountered were thing called ‘draugr’. Mostly they were men and women who were warriors in life. They betrayed their fellow men by siding with the dragons in the past and were cursed to roam the halls of their crypts, never to find rest.” He poured out more wine for them. “Or so that was the explanation I was given for them. Scary creatures. First time I saw one it was all I could do not to run screaming.”

“What were you doing in their crypt in the first place?”

“I’d been sent there by one of the jarls. That’s one of their titles for nobility, a lord who governs a province much like your father governs The Reach or mine does The North. The dragons were returning and killing people. Destroying entire settlements. They’d heard of a tablet that recorded information about them from the last time they had flown the skies and needed it retrieved. I had seen one of them and what it could do with my own eyes, and I was alone in that land. I needed a way to provide for myself and perhaps figure out how to get home, so I took on tasks that came my way. Skyrim is a harsh land, and people grow up fast there. I was only thirteen, not even able to grow a proper beard yet, but I knew how to hold a sword and I wasn’t afraid of hard work. There were those who questioned my youth, but they were mostly from the elder races.”

Olenna arched a brow. “The elder races?”

He wondered how best to explain it. “There were races other than men. There were the elves, or the ‘mer’. The Altmer, High Elves, the Bosmer or Wood Elves, the Dunmer, or Dark Elves and the Osmer, also known as the Orcs. There were also the Falmer, who were apparently a race called the Snow Elves who long ago fled underground and have since devolved into something else entirely, twisted and blind and nothing like their former glory. There were also the Dwemer at one time, the Dwarves, who went extinct and left behind only their underground cities and the mechanisms they used to build. The Orcs usually only lived to around fifty or sixty years, mainly because they are a warlike race and often die in battle. Growing old and feeble is abhorrent to them, so an older Orc may actually start to look for a worthy opponent who can kill him in battle rather than become a burden to his family. HighElves in good health could live to see ten centuries or more.” Jon puzzled on that. “I did notice that the longer the life span, the less fertile the race. High Elves might have only one child, two at most and spaced decades or more apart. An Orc family might have four or more.”

Margery was entranced. “What did they look like?”

“Quite different. The basic shape was the same, but a male Orc would be taller and bigger than a normal man. Many built like Gregor Clegane but the green skin and tusks protruding upwards from the lower jaw. A high elf would be taller but very thin with ears that stretched up and to a point and slanted eyes that can be unsettling. Then there were the truly odd races like the Khajiit and Argonians. The first were cat men, bipedal like us but with fur instead of hair and tails. The Argonians were more lizard-like, also with tails, and could breathe underwater and resistant to most diseases.”

Olenna snagged another plum. “If I hadn’t spent the last several days watching you do what should be impossible, I would think you mad.”

“I did say that you would. Maybe you can use that to get Margery out of the betrothal. If you tell the King that I am a mad man, even he would have to rescind the request.”

They looked at him quizzically. Olenna arched a regal brow. It was Margery who spoke. “Is it...are you like my brother? Do you prefer other men?”

Jon nearly choked on his wine. “No! It’s not that. Nothing of the sort. It’s just that...a woman of your stature would be able to find a match with a man of much higher status. A lord with his own lands. Perhaps even one connected to the Royal Family.”

“What? And share Renly with Loras? Not unless it was necessary. We’ve shared many things, but I don’t know that I’d want to share my marriage bed with him.”

“I believe our young Jon is under the impression that we should be upset that the King sent him here, and with good reason. Sending the bastard son of Eddard Stark, even a legitimized one, is an insult. On the other hand, he did save your brother’s life, safeguarding the family, and as he has demonstrated he possesses an unusual skill set that makes him quite the catch.” The matron leaned back in her chair, her eyes sharp. “I’m more interested in hearing about the dragons. Were they fearsome?”

Grateful to change the subject, Jon answered. “Very much so. Massive. There were different kinds and they all had names, though I only learned of a few. I don’t think they were the same kind of dragons that the Targaryens kept. They were aware and as intelligent as men. Maybe even more so. They could learn to speak human languages and even had a language of their own that a man could learn if he bent himself to the task.”

“And did you? Learn to speak their language?”

Fuck. He’d said too much. Olenna was watching him like a cat sizing up a particularly plump mouse. And she’d already pointed out that he couldn’t lie. Best to keep truthful but rationed.

“Yes, I did. Their words held power and power could be a weapon. When you’re trying to survive, you use any weapon you can.”

Margery leaned forward. “Could you teach me how to speak it?”

That...she was far too eager for knowledge. He didn’t delude himself into thinking that she was the bookish sort. Margery wanted knowledge because the more she knew the more power she had. He had no qualms teaching her spells, there was no harm in a woman knowing how to defend herself, but teaching her the Dragon Tongue could be dangerous. 

“I do not think that I can. I learned my words from massive walls built into temples, and a few from an ancient dragon called Parthunaax. I don’t think the skill can be taught outside of Skyrim. You’ve no dragons to steal the power from.”

“Steal the power?”

He frowned. “It’s not something I’m proud of, but to be able to use the words, to understand them instead of just seeing them, I had to kill dragons and take their magic to ‘unlock’ them.” There, that was relatively close to the truth.

“They were dragons. Weren’t they dangerous?”

“They were soldiers in a war. It was their leader, Alduin, who was dangerous. Parthunaax had cut ties with him centuries ago, and lived peacefully atop his mountain in quiet reflection, teaching his wisdom to an order of monks who dwelt there. Another one, Ohdahviing, was willing to hold discourse with me once I proved myself worthy of his time and agreed to fly me to Alduin’s home in the mountains to face him. Most would be content to live high above men where the air was too thin and the soil unfit for crops, keeping apart.” He felt himself smiling. “They were majestic when they flew. The skies here feel empty without them.”

He felt the weight of Olenna’s eyes on him. She peered at him, a lone finger tapping the table absently. He cleared his throat. “More wine, Lady Olenna?”

She smiled and held out her cup. “Yes, please.” He filled it and she pulled back her arm. “Bastard you may have been, but your education and manners were clearly never neglected. Some would fear giving too much to a natural son out of fear he would grow greedy and try to usurp their legitimate heir.”

“Father had no concern of that. It was always clear that Robb was the next Lord of Winterfell. I was content with perhaps one day being captain of his guard, or even taking the Black. I never considered a keep or lands of my own until Father brought it up to me in King’s Landing. He wanted me to take over a keep that recently lost it’s lord to tragedy.”

“So Robert’s decision to send you here has trampled those plans.”

“Quite thoroughly. The King was clear that part of the reason for sending me was that I was free to remain in The Reach so that you did not have to send Margery further than was comfortable.”

Margery beamed. “It’s better this way. I am a golden rose, not a winter one. I would not weather well in the North.” The took a large slice of roast from her plate and offered it to Ghost. The wolf took it from her hand with more care than something as fierce should possess. “I think Ghost likes it better here as well.”

“He likes that you spoil him. You’re turning him into a lapdog.”

“My lap would never be large enough.” She returned to her meal. “Is it true that someone once told your father that you were the prettiest of his daughters?”

Olenna threw her head back in laughter as Jon blanched. “Who told you that?”

“Loras.”

“He wasn’t even there!”

Her eyes sparkled. “Renly told him.”

The paleness gave way to an embarrassed flush. “Please, I beg of you, my brother and Theon will be coming to the wedding. I’ll get enough from them. Please don’t you pile on as well.”

Margery giggled.

“Do you play the lute?”

Jon blinked and looked to Olenna. “No, I don’t. I’ve never had cause to learn.”

“Ah. I was just curious. Your hands, you have such elegant and long fingers. Far beyond what one would usually see on a soldier. They look more like those of a bard, or perhaps an artist. I had wondered if you might have such talents as those as well.”

“I had little time to pursue such things, even if I’d had the desire.”

The Queen of Thorns reclined back in her chair. “A pity. Well, perhaps you’ll pass them on to your daughters and we can find a proper teacher for them. A pretty girl is all the prettier when she can sing and play.”

~***~

Margery stood at the window of her bed chamber and looked down into the training yard. Jon was down there, helping one of the younger cousins sent to Highgarden for fostering with his archery. Ghost, ever present at his master’s side, sprawled in a patch of sunlight, catching a nap.

“And what think you of your bridegroom, sister?”

“I think he’s hiding something. Grandmother agrees. But he is an interesting man. Not as powerful as I would have liked.” She paused, a smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. “Well, not in the traditional sense.” For emphasis she waved a hand towards the candelabra on a nearby table, sparks licking out from her fingers to light the wicks. 

Loras frowned. “I still don’t know how I feel about this sorcery.”

She turned to her brother. “You would do well to learn from him. At least the healing. Knights get injured, Loras. It would not be unwise to know how to mend your own wounds.”

“I’ll trust my Maester, thank you. Though I suppose it is smart for a lady to have some way to fight back. Few men would try to rape a lady who could set their manhood alight.”

She grinned and looped an arm through his before walking out with him for a stroll along the walls as was often their custom. “I admit that I was unhappy when the King’s raven arrived, though less so once I learned that he saved your life.”

“It doesn’t hurt that he’s nearly as pretty as you.”

“No, it doesn’t. I shall certainly not find it difficult to share his bed. And it could have been worse. The King could have insisted on the Stark heir and I would have been sent off to Winterfell. If Robb Stark is as stoic and brooding as his brother I would have grown icicles out of my twat.” She looked at her brother. “What do you think of him?”

Loras pondered the question. “I agree that he is hiding something. Likely something Lord Eddard hides as well. I spoke to them both before leaving to come home and neither of them were entirely comfortable with this arrangement. Far more so than it just interfering with Stark’s plans for him in the North. A man born a bastard should have been overjoyed with the prospect of marriage to someone like you.”

“Do you think he already had a woman?”

Loras shook his head. “No. Jon Stark is the kind of man who would have said as much. You’ve no worry there. And he will never be unfaithful to you. Renly offered to take him to the finest brothel in King’s Landing after the tourney, more than one man offered for the honor of spending time with the hero of the moment, but he declined every time. Said he knew what it is like to be a bastard and that he did not wish to risk fathering any of his own.”

“Well, that certainly explains why he is so painfully respectful whenever we’re alone. Do you think he’s ever lain with a woman?”

Her brother let out a bark of laughter. “No, I doubt it. You will have to take the reins in the bedroom, sister.”

“Hmmm. Oh, well, at least I won’t have to break him of any bad habits.” She frowned. “Do you think that’s a Northmen trait?”

“No, I think it a Stark trait.”

“But Lord Eddard fathered Jon though he was already wed.”

“He’d been wed to the woman who was to be his brother’s wife and had only lain with her their wedding night before riding off to war not to see her again for months. His heir was born before he saw her again. There’s something to be grateful for. Lord Stark and his wife conceived their wedding night and have had five children in all, each strong and healthy. If he is like his father, you should have no trouble having a child. I shall have little nieces and nephews underfoot in no time.”

“That would make Father happy. He’d have someone new to spoil.” They followed the curves of the wall. “It doesn’t matter if Jon lacks the ambition for power now. He is young, strong and intelligent. I have plenty of time to make something of him.”

“Careful, Margery. Not all men are open to being manipulated by their wives.”

“You just have to give them the proper incentive.” A sight in the distance caught her attention. “Riders. A lot of them.”

Loras shielded his eyes from the sun. “Speaking of Starks, it looks as though your prospective good father has arrived. That’s his banner, and the banner for the Stormlands.” A smile touched his lips. “Renly came to the wedding.”

“Used my wedding as an excuse to see you, more like.” She nudged her brother playfully before looking again. “That is a large number of carts for a small party of wedding guests. And a significant number of guards.”

“Several of those look like armored carts. Looks like they’re bringing you a wealth of wedding gifts.”

“You should go down and greet them with Father. I’ll go track down my skittish bridegroom.”

He had still been in the training yard. Upon learning that their guests were approaching, the Master at Arms ordered the students to put away their weapons and get themselves sorted out before assembling in the courtyard. It took a surprisingly long time for the yard to be cleared as children were stopped and called back because this item or that wasn’t put away properly. By the time Margery could get Jon and his wolf free so they could make their way to the courtyard, the guests had arrived and Lord Stark was being greeted by her father.

Ned Stark stood next to a younger man with auburn hair that she took to be Robb Stark, the heir. A handsome man, nearly as much so as his brother, but in a different way. His bed wouldn’t have been a burden to share either, if you ignored the bitter cold of the North. They could hear more of what was being said as they drew closer, Eddard Starks deep and measured.

“We would have been here sooner, but the wagons slowed us more than expected.”

“It is a large convoy. Do men in the North usually bring so much when they travel?”

Robb Stark grinned. “It’s Jon’s property. Since he is going to be here in the Reach, I felt it prudent to bring it with us.”

Jon frowned. “I told you not to bother. I meant for you to use all that for the North.”

The other Stark brother grinned as he started towards them. “I thought Father had discussed that with you. We kept a third. The rest is yours. You’re to be a married man. You need to be able to show you can support a wife and family. Besides, we couldn’t send you to your bride a pauper.” Robb hugged Jon warmly, echanging pats on the back.

“I asked you to bring one thing.” He said it mostly through his teeth, which only made Robb laugh. 

“And I brought it. Found it exactly where you said it would be and kept it close.” Robb reached into his surcoat and extracted a finely embroidered bag that looked to be silk. “I figured it was important since you bothered to send a raven asking me to bring it. Should I give it to her or is it for you to wear?”

Jon scowled and snatched the big. “Give me that.”

“For you then? I thought it looked a bit feminine, but...” he finished with a shrug.

Margery’s curiosity was piqued. What is it?”

Robb grinned. “A gift for you, unless I miss my guess.”

Jon opened the bag and carefully removed a stunning creation of gold, diamonds and emeralds. It was designed so that the necklace looked as though delicate, glittering flowers entwined amongst each other in such a way that they would lay like a verdant bed just above the swell of the breasts. Margery gasped, entranced, then noticed the uncertain look on Jon’s face. As though he wasn’t sure she would like it.

In answer, she turned her back to him and pulled her long hair aside. A silent invitation for him to fasten it around her neck. The gold felt warm against her neck as he fastened the clasp and she ran her fingers over the intricate, jeweled blossoms of diamond petals and emerald leaves. “I’ve never seen anything so lovely. Where did you find it?”

“In a chest in a ruined tower. There was a gang of bandits using it as a hideout. They’d been causing trouble for the locals so I took care of them.”

“Thank you.” She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, lingering a second too long for what would be seemly. She did things like this on purpose. If she was to spend her life with this man she would take her entertainment where she could, and the blush that colored even the tips of his ears amused her. Jon was quite adorable when he was flustered. She would have fun breaking him of his stodginess once she got him in bed. “I will leave you two to your reunion. I want to show Grandmother.”

She heard Robb tease him about his luck in brides as she sought out Olenna. The matron was peering curiously at the wagons as Lord Eddard and her father spoke. One of the armored wagons had been opened, letting them see the smaller money chests containing gold coins and jewels inside. Lord Stark was telling Mace how the coins were half again larger than gold dragons, so Robb had been melting them down in batches and having them returned to bars so that he could avoid arguments over their value. It was cheaper than trying to bargain with the Lannisters to have them restruck.

Olenna plucked an emerald only slightly smaller than her palm from one of the chests as Margery came to her side. “Do you think I could talk that sweet boy into giving this to me?” She spied the necklace and smiled. “Oh, that is exquisite.”

“A gift from Jon. He asked his brother to bring it with him, though I don’t think he expected all of this.”

“He wasn’t, but I admit I’m glad to see it. According to Lord Stark he earned all of this on his own. A good sign. It means he is more than capable of providing for a wife and family.”

It certainly did. Margery stepped away from the treasure laden wagon and walked with her grandmother to inspect the others. There was another one filled with gold and silver in bars, another that contained jewelry and loose gems. Two contained weapons and armor of various styles. Another was filled with books and scrolls. One wagon held a couple of odd looking tables and crates of bottles and phials, some empty and others containing liquid. 

“We will need a bigger set of rooms.”

“He will need a study. Or a workroom. Or both.” Olenna looked up as Mace and Lord Stark came to join them, accompanied now by a young man introduced as Theon Greyjoy. “Your son did quite well for himself during his absence. To hear him tell about it, he was mainly concerned with survival.”

“Jon has always been a humble soul. Even when he was a boy.” Eddard looked around and found his sons by yet another wagon, this one the open kind used by most. “I see he found the plants.”

Margery tilted her head curiously. “Plants?”

“From Skyrim.”

Theon grinned. “The day Jon returned, whatever power or god who sent him back sent his hall and all its belongings with him. It had a glass garden built onto it where he grew plants he used frequently so he didn’t have to forage for them in the wild. And it had an apiary. The bees are thriving. Maester Luwin says its likely because Skyrim is as cold and harsh as our North, so they are hardier. He says it will expand what we can grow for ourselves. All the farmers up there are in a tizzy over it.”

Lord Stark nodded towards the wagon where Jon spoke to the two men who had been charged with it. “Luwin sent cuttings of the plants down so Jon would have access to them, since he won’t be returning to the North. Robb brought along two farmers with enough sons to work their fields in their absence to tend them on the journey.”

Olenna watched the men, her eyes narrowed. “There may be something to raising a young man in more humble circumstances. Too many young lordlings grow up vain, foolish and spoiled. Jon is none of those things. I have met few sons born to wealthy families who would be loathe to get their hands dirty with honest hard work such as growing plants. You’ve raised him well, Lord Stark.”

“He was lost to me when he was but a boy still. He has raised himself these past years.”

“A building cannot be strong and stable without a solid foundation upon which to rest. Do not sell yourself short.” Loras, Renly and another young man drew close to Robb and Jon. “That one looks like a Baratheon.”

Eddard nodded. “He is. King Robert’s natural son, Gendry. I found him on the Street of Steel, apprenticed to a blacksmith. Robert has legitimized him and he will go with Robb when he returns to Winterfell to learn what is expected of a lord. I’ve keeps and holds in need of leadership, and with Jon remaining here I needed more men.”

“Ha! A trade! The king steals your bastard from you and you take one of his in return. Excellent move. A handsome young man as well. And a lord with a trade. The small folk will like that.”

A smirk tugged at Theon’s lips. “So will the Northern lords. They’re a practical lot.” He jerked his chin towards the wagon where another person had joined them, this one a slender girl with dark hair. Margery watched as the girl ran, tensed and leapt. Jon caught her easily, hugging her close. “And Arya gets on well with him, too. Though that may be because he forged her sword.”

That got her attention. “You allow your daughter to have a sword?”

Lord Stark nodded. “Arya is a brave one, and fierce. The North is a harsh and unforgiving place. It depends on the parents, but it is not unheard of for a Northern girl to learn how to fight for herself. The ladies that lead Bear Island are some of the fiercest warriors we have. Jon gave her the blade and she wanted to keep it and learn to use it properly. I would not deny her that.”

Margery considered that, then folded her arms over her chest and sent a scowl in her brother’s direction, not that he noticed. Olenna did.

“What are you frowning about?”

“I’m fairly certain Loras has never thought to give me a sword.”

“Why would you ever need a sword?”

“To learn how to defend myself”

Olenna scoffed. “That’s what the guards are for.”

“Guards can be killed! Then what?”

Her grandmother waved off the concern. “Then That is what that nonsense your betrothed is teaching you is for.”

“It is NOT nonsense!”

~***~

“Gendry! I didn’t think to see you again.” Jon shook the smith’s hand as Lord Renly came up behind him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Your father said you’d already met my nephew.”

“Nephew?”

“The King is my father.” The idea seemed to make the other young man slightly ill. “Your father came to see me in the shop, and the next day his men came a fetched me to the castle to see the king.”

“Robert legitimized him, which takes a great deal of pressure off of me. If I never get around to having sons of my own, I’ll just name Gendry my heir.” Gendry’s expression became greener. “I offered to take him to Storms End, but your father wants him up north. He’s to go with your brother to finish his education.”

Jon took pity on the youth. “Disorienting, isn’t it?”

“It’s down right terrifying!” Renly and Loras both chuckled, which earned them a glare. “One day I’m working the forge, minding my own business, the next I’m meeting the king, being told I’m a lord now and turned over to women who stripped me down and scrubbed me down so hard I thought they’d take my skin off! Then they make me dress up in all of this and I have to go and eat with the king, the queen, my new uncle here and your father. Queen Circe looked like she wanted to claw my eyes out!”

Renly snorted. “You’re underestimating her. She wanted to poison you. Lord Stark likely has his own men oversee every bit of food and wine that comes near you. It isn’t seemly for Robert’s bastard to look more like him than his heir. That’s why we were eager to get you out of the city.”

Gendry did not seem amused. “And your sisters!” Both Jon and Robb arched a cautionary brow his way. “Don’t take me wrong, they’re lovely girls, but Sansa scolds me whenever I say ‘m’lady’ instead of ‘my lady’ and if I try to call Arya either she punches me!”

Robb kept a stoic face. “Then stop calling her that.”

Gendry continued, still addressing most of his grievances to Jon who, he probably believed, would be more understanding since he was a legitimized bastard himself. “And the whole trip here Sansa kept making me join her in the wheelhouse to ‘continue my education’ with what she thinks I need to know. It’s all houses and which family leads them and what their saying is and who the war with and who their allies are. Did you have to learn all that?”

All four of the other men answered in a flat unison of, “Yes.”

That made Gendry pause and blink. Fortunately any further ranting was cut off by Arya arriving and throwing herself into her brother’s arms.


	7. Chapter 7

The wedding was to be done in the style of The Seven. The Starks didn’t fully approve, half of them followed the Old Gods, but it was agreed that eventually the pair would pay a visit to Winterfell and a second ceremony in the godswood could be done as well.

There would be no bedding ceremony. Jon put his foot down about that one and Lord Stark supported his son, saying that he had likewise forbade the practice at his own wedding.

There would be a glorious feast. All the Tyrell cousins and most of the lords of The Reach would be there. There was going to be a feast anyway, House Tyrell could well afford it, but now that their newest member was nearly doubling that wealth, the Tyrells were in an even greater celebratory mood.

Now, if only her groom could show more enthusiasm about it all.

“I don’t think he likes me.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Olenna was admiring the massive emerald that Jon had so graciously gifted to her once he had learned of her interest. “He is a healthy young man and you are a beautiful young woman. Of course he likes you. He’ll like you even more after the wedding night.”

“He never initiates anything. Not even a simple kiss. I think he’s still hoping that the King will change his mind and call off the wedding.”

“Well, that certainly isn’t going to happen. We’re keeping him. Seduce him if you have to, but do not let him wriggle off the hook.”

Margery turned in her chair to frown in puzzlement at her grandmother. “You were against him when you first learned of him. Has he grown on you that much? It’s not as though an alliance with House Stark is needed. They’re all the way up North.”

Olenna looked from the emerald to study her. It drew out for a moment before she dismissed the maids, waiting until the door closed. Once they were alone, she leaned forward, her expression intense. “When I was much younger, I visited the capital. One day I was wandering the market, trying to find something to keep me entertained, when I happened upon the most beautiful music. A bard in simple clothing, playing his lute and singing with a voice unlike anything I’d ever known. Imagine my shock when I recognized him as Prince Rhaegar.”

“The Prince? Pretending to be a bard?”

“Yes. Ser Barristan Selmy was only a foot or two away, dressed commonly and looking very stern. I lingered around the edges, keeping out of their direct sight, until the Prince was done. Then I watched him gather up the coins he’d earned and take them to a local orphanage.” Olenna smiled. “Rhaegar was like that. Noble in heart as well as in blood. We did not support the crown because we liked the King. We supported it because we trusted Rhaegar to set things to right when he claimed the throne.”

“I don’t understand. What does this have to do with Jon?”

“When Lord Stark returned from the war, he carried an infant boy he claimed was his bastard. It shocked everyone. He was the honorable brother. It was out of character for him to be unfaithful to his wife. But it was also out of character for him to lie, and the child did look like him. That and his insistence on doing right by the child made any question of where the child came from go away.”

Margery’s frown deepened. “You doubt that it was true?”

“That same day Lord Stark also returned with his sister’s corpse.” Olenna waited until Margery’s eyes widened in understanding. “The first day he came here I called him ‘The Prince That Should Have Been’. I had meant it about Eddard Stark’s failure to take the throne when he was the better choice, but he looked as though his heart might fail him. And there are other signs. The set of his eyes. The slope of his brow.”

“His hands. He has hands like a bard. Hands like Rhaegar Targaryen.” That luncheon under the trellis. Grandmother asking if he played the lute. “You think he isn’t a Stark.”

Olenna squeezes her hand on confirmation. “The coloring and Lord Stark’s reputation are what saved him. If he’d been born with violet eyes or silver hair it would not have been as easy.”

“So he isn’t a Stark bastard, but a Targaryen one. His legitimacy is false.”

“Well, that depends on your point of view. Stark claimed him, called him his son and raised him among his own children. There are those who take a child other than their own to their heart. And you’ve only to watch them to know that Lord Stark considers him his son in truth, and that Jon considers Lord Stark to be his father. What is a father if not a man who shelters, feeds, teaches and loves you? Baratheon’s decree to declare Jon a son of House Stark is the same he would use should a lord take an orphan into his home to fill a childless void. And Lord Stark intended to bestow land and title to Jon the same as he would his other sons.”

“Then why does it matter?”

“It matters because in Essos are the survivors of House Targaryen. Daenerys Targaryen is wed to a Dothraki horse lord with thousands of battle hardened warriors under his command. Just because the Dothraki have never crossed the sea doesn’t mean that they never will. If she convinces her barbarian to bring his horde here, it would not be unwise to have a shield between us and them.”

That made some sense, “Tell her that her brother had a child that survived and that House Tyrell took him into our bosom to keep him safe. Proof that we are still loyal.”

“Or at least appear to be.”

“Or at least appear to be.” Margery nodded. “But it is only conjecture. We have no proof that he is anything other than what the Starks claim.”

“He is a Targaryen, or rather a Blackfyre if you prefer. The Targaryen blood is likely what gives him such ease with magic. They were always a strange lot. And the Stark blood will help to undo any weaknesses brought on by the generations of intermarriage with siblings. They have a wildness in them, those Starks.” Margery gave a snort of disbelief at that. “Oh, you think your betrothed somber and dull, but there is a wolf in there as well as a dragon. He keeps himself reined tightly, but you will be in a position to crack that shell. He cannot be completely cold, not with those two bloodlines mixed together. Do not let him evade you, my sweet. Wrap your vines about him until he cannot live without you, for the good of our house.”

~***~

“Your luck is sickening.” Theon scowled as Jon and Robb sparred. “One of the most beautiful girls in all the seven kingdoms, and the king just gives her to you.”

“I rather think it’s the other way.” Jon parried a thrust just in time. “I’m the one being sent here to The Reach.”

“Oh, aye. What a burden. Sunshine and honey wines and no more fear of freezing your balls off. And you get to bed Margery Tyrell every night for the rest of your days.”

Robb grinned. “You do know how to do that last one, don’t you Brother?”

Jon growled and attacked. Robb parried, laughing as he danced back.

Theon snorted. “Not bloody likely. I’m still not convinced he even has a cock. Does Margery know she’s marrying a girl?”

“You’re welcome to join us, you know.”

“And risk my pretty face? I’ll pass.”

“You’re not that pretty.” Jon moved to take advantage of an opening in Robb’s defenses, but his brother countered easily. “You’ve grown skilled in my absence.”

“While you were exploring crypts and doubtless enjoying pretty girls running their fingers through your hair, I was studying with Ser Rodrick.”

“And getting his nob polished by the whores in Winter Town,”quipped Theon. Robb stumbled and Jon disarmed him.

Robb scowled at Greyjoy. “That was uncalled for.”

“So was you keeping Ros all to yourself last time we went there together before she left. She was my favorite.”

“The pair of you are likely to catch something with the way you carry on.”

“Maester Luwin will set us right if we do. He’s been bent over your notes. Even managed to figure out how to make his own alchemy table. A pox tried to sweep through the town a few weeks before we set out and he was able to stop it cold.”

Jon nodded. “Good. I’m glad I’ve been of some use to Winterfell.”

Robb put away his blade. “This is the King’s doing, Jon. Not yours. Besides, there is no reason why you have to live in my shadow the rest of your days. You are a strong and honorable man. You’ve a right to stand on your own.”

“Aye, though now I’ll be living in my wife’s shadow.”

Theon barked a laugh. “I see the way her family treats you. Loras thinks the sun shines out of your arse because you saved his skin when no one else would have lifted a finger and the Tyrell Rose looks as though she wants to drag you into the nearest bed chamber and tear your clothes off. I don’t get why you haven’t moved on that.”

Jon flushed. The closer to the wedding day the harder it was becoming to keep Margery at bay. His bride to be was constantly finding reasons to stand a bit too close, or to brush against him. The other day she had asked him to have a private luncheon with her inside the massive hedge maze. Just the two of them, a basket of delicacies, a bottle of Arbor Gold and a blanket spread out onto the ground in one of the ‘dead ends’. She’d promptly turned so that her hear lay on one of his thighs while she reached up to feed him berries, figs and bits of chicken. 

His dreams at night were becoming quite interesting.

“She’s a lady, Theon. And she might still find a way to escape the marriage. I won’t sully her.”

“Margery Tyrell has no interest in escaping the marriage. You’re the only one who can’t see that.”

“He’s right. Your bride is eager. You need some pointers?”

Jon punched Robb in the shoulder hard enough to make the other man wince. The other two laughed at him and he blushed all the more.

“I hate to intrude on what is clearly a joyous morning.” Ned Stark joined them, smiling at their antics. “Theon, I need to speak to my sons.”

Greyjoy gave a dramatic sigh and hopped down from the rail on which he’d been perched. “I shall go find entertainment elsewhere. I think I’ll go chaperone Arya.”

Jon frowned. “She probably with Syrio. Why would she need a chaperone?”

“Because eventually Gendry will get away from Sansa and his tutor and he always makes his way to wherever Arya is.” His smile turned wicked. Jon rolled his eyes and Robb laughed.

“You do realize Syrio is teaching her how to use that sword.”

“She wouldn’t hurt me! I’m her favorite!”

“Jon is her favorite. The rest of us she merely tolerates.”

Theon shrugged and wandered off to find his quarry. Ned shook his head in amusement. “Jon, is there someplace where our privacy can be assured?”

“The maze. We let Ghost and Grey Wind in there to play. Everyone else will avoid it.”

Ned nodded his agreement and the three of them made their way to the outer set of walls between which the elaborate hedge maze encircled Highgarden. A nice bit of strategy. It forced anyone attacking to aim for the main gates. Even if the broke through the outer walls somewhere else, they’d be slowed to a crawl as they either navigated or cut their way through the maze. 

“What troubles you, Father?” Robb’s expression was concerned now that they were alone.

“Many things. What think you of the Tyrells, Jon?”

“A mix, like most families. Lord Mace seems a jovial sort, but I doubt he’s much of a fighter. Loras is an excellent fighter, we spar often as we’re more of a match to one another, but I suspect those rumors about his predilections are true.”

“And your future wife?”

Jon drew in a breath, held it, and let it out in a controlled measure. “Dangerous. Ambitious. As is her grandmother. I am sure they had more in mind for Margery, a husband with more power and position, though they appear to have decided that I’ll do. Margery found out about my magic and insisted on learning. She’s a eager pupil, and she has a talent for it.”

Robb arched a brow. “Is that wise?”

“I spent six years in a place where there were nearly as many women in the armies and guard as there were men. The same held true for the alchemists and mages. They did so because life was brutal and short, and a woman should be just as ready to fight as a man. Here the houses war with one another, enemies plot and scheme to kill their rivals, and a man might not always be there to defend. If Margery is willing to learn a skill that may one day make the difference between her living or dying, I’ll not deny her. No more so than I would deny Arya a sword.”

“What If she uses it against you?”

“I shall endeavor not to do anything that would anger her that much.”

Ned let a snort escape him. “A wise notion for a married man.”

“And you evaded Robb’s question. What is wrong?”

Eddard studied one of the tall hedges. Through the greenery he could hear the muffled sounds of the wolves playing roughly. “Before I left for Kings Landing, Lysa Arryn sent a raven accusing the Lannisters of murdering Jon. That was the deciding factor to go. Your aunt isn’t known to be the most stable at times, so I felt more investigation was warranted. If it was true, Robert could be in danger as well.”

Robb drew in a breath. “What did you find?”

“He was looking into the houses and bloodlines. And with good reason. He was the one who found Gendry first, though he mentioned it to no one. The King has many bastards, several of whom living among the people of Kings Landing. Every one that I’ve seen looks like Robert. They all look like Gendry.”

Jon frowned, the paled. “Joffrey looks nothing like the King. None of Circe’s children do. You doubt they’re his.”

“Aye, I do.”

Robb shook his head. “If not his, then who is their father?”

Ned looked ill. “I cannot be for certain, but my suspicion is Ser Jaime.”

“Her brother!?” Now Robb looked ill as well.

“Her twin. The Targaryens often wed sibling to sibling, but did they ever stoop to twins?”

“Once,” Ned responded, “That the records list. Aelor and Aelora.”

Jon bit back a groan. “Lovely. Let’s hope the lack of fresh blood doesn’t result in my going as mad as my grandfather in later years.”

“As distasteful as it is, at least the Targaryens were wed to those siblings. They didn’t fuck them under the noses of a spouse and pass the issue off as legitimate. Father, what will you do?”

“Nothing, for now. Not until Gendry is safely up North with all our banner men between him and the Lannisters.”

“Is that why you pulled him out of the forge? Father, the king’s heir isn’t his and his entire rebellion was based on lies. That throne belongs to Jon!”

“What would I want it for! The Iron Throne has brought more misery than not. And the lords still chafe under the yoke of the crown. Nothing could make me take up that burden. I’ve no desire to spend my years dodging assassins and plots. Give me a hearth, children, my books and healthy game to hunt.”

Robb glared at him. “Robert’s rule is a lie! And what little I saw of that beast Joffrey when we came to the city to meet up with Father did not impress me. If he ascends the throne the entire realm will suffer for it!”

“You have it, then.”

“I’m not suited for the crown.”

“And you think I am?”

Ned watched his sons in bemusement. They sounded like true Starks. “As it stands, neither of you need fear having to sit on the throne. As far as the lords and the people know, Robert’s rebellion was just and he is the king. As far as they know the only living Targaryens are Daenerys and Viserys who are both is Essos. I will have enough trouble staying Robert’s hand with your aunt.”

Jon frowned. “Why? What has happened?”

“Her brother married her to a Dothraki warlord, one with a large and loyal horde. There are rumors that she is with child and he is worried that her husband will bring his forces here to take the throne.”

“Will he?”

“Unlikely. The Dothraki have never crossed the sea. They do not trust any waters their horses cannot drink. To the the sea is poison and an ill omen.”

Robb considered this. “A persuasive woman can change a man’s mind.”

“For that to happen the Dothraki would have to see women as someone worth listening too. Likely the only thing her marriage grants her is protection from rape at the hands of his men. The only women who gain any type of respect are those who are the widows of khals. Until then she is little more than his property.”

Jon looked incensed. “That’s horrible! Why would a man do that to his own sister?” 

“Likely he thought he would get a Dothraki army out of it. But the Dothraki acknowledge strength and battle prowess, something the rumors sent by whatever sources Lord Varys uses have never indicated. Viserys probably thought he could barter his sister for the Dothraki coming here to take back the throne, but I doubt his good brother will respect him. In the eyes of the Dothraki, if Viserys cannot raise an army on his own to take the crown, then he does not deserve it.”

“But Robert fears now that she may be pregnant?”

“A son raised in the Dothraki way may grow up to be a khal with a horde of his own, one raised on stories told to him of his mother about what she would feel is his birthright. A son could be a threat in another twenty to thirty years. The other members of the Small Council likely are counseling him to kill the child now before he can grow, preferably while he is still in the womb and they can kill the mother as well.”

Jon’s expression darkened. “As they would likely counsel him to kill me if they ever learned the truth.” There was no denying that. There was good reason to keep Jon’s true parentage hidden. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“What would you have done?”

“I don’t know. Something!” Jon began to pace. Robb watched his brother in concern. “I have a fortune at my disposal. I can throw lightning from my finger tips and breathe fire! And it’s all useless! Why would the Skyrim gods send me back here if I can’t do anything? I’m powerless unless I wish to become just as vile and cruel as my grandfather and slaughter innocents by the score! I’m not a man! I’m a...a weapon! A cursed sword that can only be drawn when there is sufficient threat!”

“Jon!” Robb stepped forwards and took him by the shouldered. “Calm yourself.” He framed the other man’s face in his hands. “You are not useless. And you are a man, not a weapon. Never doubt that.”

“You spent six years fighting to live in a strange world against creatures we pray do not truly exist in ours. You’ve grown used to facing impossible odds so often that the petty actions of petty men seen foreign to you.” Ned placed a hand on his dark son’s shoulder. “I cannot imagine how unsettled this must all seem to you.”

Robb frowned. “But he’s right, Father. Surely there is something that can be done. Someone we can trust to go to Essos on our behalf. If Varys is getting news and rumors, then likely there is a spy near them. They should be warned. They were only children when they were forced to flee. They are no more responsible for the war than Jon.”

Ned frowned, pondering that. “It cannot be any of us. You must return to Winterfell, I to the king and Jon cannot leave Highgarden. He can’t postpone the wedding and it would look suspicious if he left right after. And you don’t take a woman like Margery Tyrell into a horde of Dothraki, so passing it off as a wedding trip is out of the question.” He thought a bit more. ”I will think on that and see what is available to us.”

That seemed to unwind the tension in his shoulders a bit. It was easy for Ned to forget how young his sons truly were. For all that they were men, old enough to marry and become fathers, they still looked to him for guidance. “For now you should focus on your own future. In another week you will be a married man. Soon this castle will be filled with the Reach lords and their families, all watching you and taking your measure.”

“That doesn’t calm me.”

“I wasn’t trying to. You said Margery and Olenna are dangerous. The girl seems eager enough for the union. Do you think Olenna plots to stop it?”

“No. She seems well settled with it. It’s just that speaking with her is like juggling knives. You’re likely to be cut or lose a hand at any moment. And she can change topics faster than the wind can change directions. You can be taking about the different races one moment and the next she’s relaying some story about times before the war before you’ve hardly finished your last sentence.”

Ned frowned. “How do you mean?”

Jon told them of his first meeting with the Queen of Thorns and of the strange conversation about Rhaegar Targaryen. About how she always seemed to be watching him, as though trying to see inside his head.

Ned’s frown deepened. Robb grew pale. “We have to call off the wedding.”

Ned shook his head. “We can’t call off the wedding. It’s too late for that.”

“She must suspect! It’s too dangerous to proceed.”

“If she does suspect and we move, the raven to the King will beat me back to the Red Keep. We have no grounds to cancel the wedding.”

“We say they do not suit one another. Or tell the King that you need Jon in the North. We have keeps that need lords.”

“I already used that to secure Gendry and get him out of the city. And anyone who has watched Margery Tyrell will know the first is false.” He drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “No, it’s too late to back out. If Olenna suspects she would have already used it. The Tyrells supported the Targaryens in the war. It is likely that she would not hold it against him, but she can just as easily turn it against us if we push things now.”

Jon worried his lip briefly. “The Reach lords start arriving as early as tomorrow. If we were to pull out now, the Tyrells could claim it a grave insult. The North needs their grains and crops. We can’t afford the fallout.”

Robb glowered, running an agitated hand through his hair. “I don’t like it. I don’t like you being here on your own. At least in the North you would be surrounded by our banner men and soldiers. Here you are surrounded by theirs.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I have faced such odds. I can fight my way free of an opposing force if need be.”

Ned nodded, more out of settling his own thoughts than anything else. “It is unlikely that the Tyrells will do anything against Jon at this late in things. They would have stopped the wedding long before going through so much effort to plan the festivities. And...” he trailed off before looking back to Jon. “I need you to proceed as normal, for Sansa’s sake.”

“How does my wedding impact Sansa?”

“I need more time to get her out of her own betrothal. You’ve met Joffrey. I cannot let her marry that monster. Robert is bent on uniting out families, but we have another option now.”

Robb blinked. “You mean Gendry.”

“Yes. Arya is Lyanna all over again. Your aunt was much like her when she was younger. She grew into her beauty, she was not born with it. And Gendry is Robert all over at that age, though without the drinking and whoring. Gendry knows Arya is wild. He does not hold it against her and Arya does not look down on him for his low birth. They would be a better match. And it may be enough to satisfy Robert so that he agrees to release the betrothal, provided I fail to find the proof that Joffrey isn’t his before then.” He looked back to Jon. “I hate to ask you to take on such a burden, but you and Margery could make a strong and happy marriage. I fear what would happen to Sansa at the hands of Joffrey.”

Jon nodded. “I have mostly made my peace with it already. I have to marry at some point. At least here perhaps I can help get Winterfell better trade prices for Reach goods.”

“Good. Then it is decided. Keep your eyes and ears open. Try to get a feel for how much Olenna thinks she knows. Volunteer nothing. Make her disclose her thoughts first.”

“I will.”

They called the wolves to them and left the maze. As they neared the gate, Robb leaned over. “Jon?”

“Yes?”

“Can you truly breathe fire?”


	8. Chapter 8

The Reach lords started to arrive. At least once a day Jon had to make his way to the courtyard to greet his wedding guests with the Tyrells and his family. He suspected that the only one less comfortable than he was Arya, who bemoaned each time she had to put on one of the pretty dresses Sansa had made for her.

“Why do I have to be here at all? I’m not the one getting married.”

“Because Jon and I shouldn’t have to suffer through this alone.” Robb yanked on her braids and smirked when she tried to get back at him with one of her sharp fists.

“Could the three of you at least pretend to be somewhat civilized?”

“Sorry, Father,” responded three voices.

Robb leaned over slightly. “Which house is this again?”

“Houses Hightower, Redwyne and Oldflowers.” Jon frowned. “I think.”

Arya sighed. “How many people are coming to your wedding? The entire Seven Kingdoms?”

“It’s certainly starting to feel that way.”

“I think I’ll marry by the old ways. Just me, the bride and a witness or two in the godswood. So much simpler.”

Jon nodded to Robb. “I hear you. Father and I should have fought harder on the ceremony.”

Mace Tyrell met the new guests just as warmly as he did the others. His prospective good father was happy, likely because of the seemingly never ending feast. Redwyne brought yet more of the wine they were famous for and Oldflower brought meade. Jon smiled and accepted the warm well wishes and congratulations. He was introduced to all the sons and all the daughters and was assuring them that he found The Reach far more hospitable than the harsh cold of the North.

He stayed as long as courtesy demanded before working his way free to return to the bit of turned earth set aside for him to use as a garden. The soil was dark and rich. He planted the creep cluster in containers to prevent the more aggressive species from taking over, and a shaded area near one of the walls would hopefully provide a good place for the various fungi. The gardeners had been quite interested in the glowing mushrooms with their subtle luminescence. 

The bed he was working at the time had been placed where it would be away from the main path for a specific reason. Jon had just finished patting the soil down around the roots when a man’s tenor reached his ears. “Are those plants...singing?”

He looked up to find Samwell Tarly, the eldest son of Lord Randyll Tarly of Horn Hill. He was a corpulent man with a weak chin, and nothing at all like the grizzled warrior who fathered him.

“They are. They’re called nirnroots. I thought to put them hear so they wouldn’t annoy people as much.”

“Oh! I’ve never seen their like before.” The young man drew closer and knelt down next to him, peering curiously at the plants. “The red ones have a slightly different sound.”

“They do. They come from a subterranean environment and developed differently. Both love water, however.” Jon pointed to the sizable indention he was building into the spot. “This will be a water garden. I didn’t have time to construct it before the guests started to arrive, but I didn’t want the plants to become root bound in the pots they arrived in.”

Samwell smiled, tilting his ear only inches away from one of the green plants, his expression one of wonder. “They say you were lost in a far away land for years before you found your way home. Are they from there?”

“They are. I use them for potions so I need to cultivate them here”

Sam sat up straight. “Potions? Like medicines? Did you study to be a maester?”

“No. I fear I haven’t the temperament for that calling. But anyone can learn alchemy if they put their mind to it.”

The boy’s eyes brightened at the idea. “Truly? Do you...could you show me?” He flushed. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be presumptuous.”

Jon chuckled. “No trouble. Let me get this last plant settled and we can go up to my study.” Samwell watched as Jon finished up, cleaned and stowed his tools and washed the dirt from his hands. The went into the main part of the castle, narrowly dodging a group of young Tyrell cousins, the children moved in feral packs, and up to the pair of adjoined rooms the his bride’s family had given him for his books and work tables. 

Sam’s eyes went wide with wonder. Books were an expensive commodity and Jon had many. And on many topics. “We don’t have nearly this many at Horn Hill. My father feels that swords are more important than books.”

“A house can have both. Winterfell has a generous library, and no one can accuse the Starks of not knowing how to hold a sword.”

“And all these tell you how to make potions? About alchemy?”

“No, only some of them. Others are histories of Skyrim, old legends and magic.”

“Magic?” He peered at the books more closely. “I always wanted to be a wizard, but the Maester says magic isn’t real.”

There was something hungry and wistful in his voice. It reminded Jon of young hopefuls wanting to get into the College of Winterhold, eager to learn its secrets.

“Sam?”

The young man looked towards him, brows raised.

Jon opened his hand with a muttered word, engulfing it in flames.

Samwell Tarly moved a startled few steps back. “Oh my!”

Jon’s grin widened a bit. “Maesters are smart, but they don’t know everything.” He dismissed the flames before reaching out for the primer book on healing. “I always recommend starting with this one, though. A basic healing spell that will seal wounds and staunch bleeding. A good thing to know in a fight.”

Sam accepted the book with reverence, opening it carefully. “Magic is real? The Maester said I had feathers in my head to believe that.”

“Took Maester Luwin by surprise. He caught on quickly enough, though he’d wanted to be a wizard when he was younger as well so he was eager. I have to find time to copy these and send the copies back to Winterfell. My brother says   
Luwin only had time to do five before they brought them down.”

“You’re going to share them? Share the knowledge?” There was a hungry light in Sam’s eyes at the idea, but it was quickly quashed by what was obviously sadness.

“What is it?”

“I won’t get to learn any of it. I suppose I’ll be dead soon.”

Jon frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“I’m going to the Wall. Leaving the day after your wedding.” He gave a bitter laugh at Jon’s surprise. “Yes, I know. I’m hardly the type. And I’m a coward.”

“Then why join?”

“Because My Lord Father says that I will. He refuses to pay the tuition to become a Maester, but he doesn’t want me to inherit. He wants my younger brother Rickon as his heir, so he told me that I would join the Watch or he would take me hunting and I would fall from my horse. Or at least that is what he would tell my mother was what killed me.”

He said it so matter-of-factly. Jon first felt cold shock, then boiling anger. He was about to say something when Olenna’s wry tone cut into the room.

“That certainly sounds like Randyll Tarly.”

Both men turned to see the dame walking through the door. Samwell’s face blushed crimson. “I mean no disrespect.”

“Why not? He deserves it.”

“Sam, I don’t know if you’ve been formally introduced to Lady Olenna.”

Olenna extended a hand which Sam bent over dutifully. “I’m the woman your father considers a meddlesome, uppity bitch who needs to be taught her place.” Sam startled, blushing even deeper. “I shall spare your young and tender ears and not tell you what I think of him.”

Jon covered a laugh with a cough. Poorly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Young Tarly, I need to speak with Jon in private. Do you mind?”

“Oh, of course not. I have probably taken up too much of his time already. It must be quite busy, preparing to marry.”

“Mostly I just wear what they tell me to and show up where they tell me to be.” 

Sam offered the book back to Jon. “No, keep it while you’re here. It will give you something to preoccupy your mind, and the knowledge may prove useful.”

“Oh! Oh, thank you.” Sam cradled the time as though it were the most precious of treasures. “I’ll take good care of it.” He bowed his farewells and hurried off.

Olenna waited until the door shut behind him. “If you storm down there and kill Randyll Tarly, it will cause no end of trouble.”

Jon clenched his jaw. “I wasn’t going to murder Lord Tarly.”

She smiled and closed the space between them, patting one of his fisted hands. “Beating him to a pulp wouldn’t be much better. Granted he deserves it. You’re unlikely to meet any man less likable unless you’ve the displeasure of running across Walder Frey, but it would look poorly both upon us and your lord father.”

Jon released a slow breath and unclenches his fists. “I know. I just...Sam is his son and he threatens his life?”

“Not all men are as fortunate as you have been in their fathers. If that young man had been born a Stark or Tyrell, we would have let him step down and go to the Citadel to study. Even Aemon Targaryen was allowed to step away from his claim to the throne for just that purpose. But Randyll Tarly does not consider Maesters to be real men. In his mind a true man wields a sword and either falls in battle or gains glory by leaving a trail of dead enemies in his wake.”

“I’ve heard what goes to the Watch these days. Most of them are men who would otherwise be executed for their crimes or worse. Murderers, thieves and rapists. If Samwell Tarly goes to the Wall he will be dead within a fortnight.”

“And his father is unlikely to shed a tear.” Olenna patted his arm again. “You leave Randyll Tarly to me. As much of a bore as the man may be, he does have one glaring weakness, and I know just how to use it.”

Jon blinked. “What are you going to do?”

She winked. “Don’t worry your head over it. You’ve got enough on your mind.” She stepped away. “And I came here for something else. Do any of your elixirs help with the...troubles sometimes left on a woman from the company of men?”

He blinked again. “Ah...nothing I have will cast off a child. I wouldn’t brew such even if I knew how.”

“Of course not. That is why a smart woman drinks her moon tea. No, I meant the illnesses men sometimes leave behind.”

What in the name of the gods had Olenna been doing to contract such, and with whom? No, on second thought, he didn’t really wish to know. “I do have some cures that will banish nearly all such.”

“Oh, good! I told Dylenna that I might be able to help her with such. With all the guests her girls will be working constantly.”

Now he was truly confused. “Her...girls?”

“Yes. Dylenna is the proprietress of the brothel in the keep town. I asked her to come up and speak with Margery. Give her counsel on her upcoming wedding night.”

He could not be hearing correctly. “You asked the madam of the brothel to speak with...Lady Margery?”

“Of course. Who better to tell a young woman what is expected of her and what she might do to make certain she enjoys herself?” The old dame’s eyes glinted with mischief. “Does that shock you?”

He stared at her stupidly for a long moment before speaking his mind. “I doubt that Lady Catelyn even knows the name of who runs Winter Towns brothel, let alone speaks to her.”

“Then you are blissfully naive. A smart lady knows that the whores’ services are just as valuable as those of any other of the small folk. They provide an outlet for randy men and cut down on the number of women taken by force while allowing young women to avoid finding themselves with an unwanted babe. Many a lord avail themselves of the pleasure houses when their wives are recovering from birth and cannot receive them. Though I suspect you and your lord father are some of the rare few who do not.”

Jon swallowed and tried desperately not to think of what the madam may be telling Margery. “How many do you think she will require?”

“Oh, a dozen or more. We do have a large number of guests. I’m not overly concerned about the lords, but we’ve no idea where some of the men have been.”

“Right. Of course.” Jon want over to one of the trunks Robb had brought down and placed several bottles into a leather satchel. “These should do to start. I will make some more. Provided I’ve no other duties you need of me before supper they should be ready by morning.”

Olenna took the satchel. “Excellent. I will be sure to tell Loras and Renly to leave you alone. You’ve probably had your fill of their teasings at any rate.”

That was certainly the truth. The other young men were merciless in their ribald humor. Robb and Theon were no better. Jon walked Olenna to the door and shut it behind her before leaning against it.

These Tyrells were nothing like the Starks.

~***~

Jon’s eyes opened when the room was still dark. He usually awoke before the sky started to brighten. 

Today was his wedding day.

It seemed that there truly would be no final challenge to the ceremony. He would have thought that someone of a higher birth or with greater political power would have come forward by now to claim Margery for themselves. With her beauty and breeding, he thought someone would do so for no other reason than him being her bridegroom was beneath her.

It would seem his father’s position and standing trumped all of that.

He sat up, searching through his hair as he yawned. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling. Nervousness? Excitement? Shor, and he was certain it was Shor speaking through Tsun when was sent home, had returned him to Westeros for a reason. He didn’t think it was to become a pampered Lord here in Highgarden, as pleasant as the idea of sharing a bed with Margery might be. He had been warned that Winter was coming. There had been winters, harsh ones, but the Stark words were always a reminder of The Winter. The Long Night. The time when the dead walked and people starved. A time of horrors and nightmares that his time in Skyrim would have somewhat prepared him for. How could he help anyone truly prepare if he was down here?!

There was a knocking at his door. He threw back the covers and walked over, padding on bare feet and wearing loose trousers as was his custom. One learned quickly not to sleep nude when there was always a threat that you could be attacked in the night. Opening the door, he let in the group of servants carrying buckets of heated water for his bath. It took several to fill the large copper tub.

The final delivery was a platter of meats, cheeses, bread and fruit should he not with to break his fast with his guests. Fortunate. His sister’s would not be there but would likely spend most of the day preparing to look their best, or rather Sansa and Septa Mordane would spend a good portion of the morning trying to convince Arya to do so. And he didn’t wish to spend the hours up to his wedding dodging bawdy jokes from the men his age. Loras usually refrained from the worst of it, since they included his sister, but Theon and Renly were merciless. And Robb wasn’t much help. He didn’t say any of the worst of it, but he laughed heartily and did nothing to rein in Theon. Honestly! They were bound by blood! He should be able to expect some modicum of support there.

When he was alone again he stripped off his trousers and sank into the scalding water. The Reach made good use of their wide range of flora and he was always supplied with soap. Not the plain bars used in the North, but ones that were scented. He found he preferred ones mixed with mint and evergreens. They reminded him of forests and the cold. The staff had made certain to keep them at hand once this preference had become known and he reached for the bar now. He made quick work of scrubbing his skin and hair, rinsing off the thick lather before setting the soap back onto its carved wooden dish and sinking down into the still steaming water. There was no rush. The ceremony wasn’t until early afternoon.

He had never thought to marry. When he had been younger he had thought to join the Watch like his uncle. It would have removed the sin of his existence from Winterfell and alleviated the strain his presence caused. When he’d found himself stranded in Skyrim he’d had no time to think of such things. There had always been another clue to find, another threat to dispatch. The women near him had been warriors in their own right, wearing armor and wielding swords along side their shield brothers with honor and pride. He could have been happy with one of them, if all his thoughts hadn’t been bent to surviving and finding a way home.

When he’d been sent back, his only thoughts had been to defend and protect the North. His blood connected him there. His family was there. He supposed he had family in a Essos as well. Family that the king wanted dead.

Jon’s brow furrowed. Did Robert Baratheon truly believe Rhaegar stole and raped Lyanna, or did he know the truth? If he knew the truth,had he always known or had he learned of it only when it was too late? If he had always known then he had lied to the Starks and to the North to gain their support in his war. If he had not known, then the whole thing had been a tragedy. He had no doubt that the Mad King had needed to go, whether by death or by being removed from the throne and into the care of healers for his fevered mind, but his father’s death had been unwarranted.

Eddard Stark had every reason to keep his secret.

The door to his rooms opened with enough force to bang off the wall. Jon reached out for a sword that wasn’t there, only to see Loras, Renly and Gendry file in. Gendry carried a pail of something steaming. Renly carried wine. Loras carried some ornate bag.

Loras grinned. “There is my new good brother. Glad to see you’re making an effort to be presentable. Put the water there, will you Gendry? There’s a good lad.”

Jon relaxed and sank further into the water. “What are you doing here?”

“Making certain that you are an appropriate decoration for his dear sister today,” Renly responded in a cheerful tone. He plucked up the bar of soap and sniffed. “Oh, I like this one.”

Loras looked up from setting things out of his little case. “Do you?”

“Quite. It reminds me of hunting in the forests.”

“I’m sure the steward has plenty in the stores. We’ll get some before heading back to the city.”

Jon watched Loras. “A shaving kit?”

“Of course! That rough growth you’ve got will scour Margery’s soft, sweet skin.”

Renly arched a brow. “It’s a bit strange for you to comment so on her skin.”

“No it isn’t.”

Gendry grimaced. “It is a bit strange. She’s your sister.”

Jon looked at the shining blade of the razor. Lis this how you plan to do away with me? Cut my throat and leave me to bleed out in the bath?”

“Of course not. Margery would kill me for ruining her special day. Besides, I wouldn’t bring witnesses. Well, Renly would keep my secret, but Gendry likes you.” Loras smiled and soaked a towel into the pail of hot water. “Lean your head back, Jon.”

He did as he was told. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I can’t do it for my sister. She lacks the right type of growth. Besides, the women aren’t letting any men near her at the moment. Not even our father.”

Jon made a grunt of acknowledgement as Loras moistened his skin before lathering it up with a shaving soap with a soothing, slightly spicy scent. The young knight’s hands were firm but gentle. Jon knew he was well aware of how dangerous the blade in his hands could be.

Renly sat on his rumpled bed with a glass of wine. “Don’t blame you hiding in here, Stark. It’s all gossip and speculation in the main hall just now. You don’t want to hear the jokes and speculation as to why you banned the bedding ceremony. Some are saying you must have a small cock.”

Jon was about to rise to that but Loras pushed him back. “Hold still. I don’t want to make my sister a widow before she’s a bride. And I don’t blame you for banning it. I doubt the girls appreciate a bunch of drunken men stripping them down and pawing at them.”

Gendry gave a grunt. “A pack of leches likely came up with that. Enough wine and every man thinks he’s a god with a cock that rivals his horse. Wouldn’t bother them any to be stripped by a bunch of women. I always thought it was odd that men protect their daughters for years, but let that happen.”

Renly considered that a bit. “You may be right there, nephew mine. Though I’d wager it was some randy septon who’d never get to see a naked girl any other way. Probably wrapped it up in some flowery, religious reasons, like making sure the bride is fresh and unblemished.”

Loras let out a chuff. “Probably more like it. I’ve nothing against denying some of those old brutes out there a chance to get their hands on my sister. You might actually start a new tradition, Jon. Good on you. This family does try to be fashionable.”

The got a bark of laughter from Renly as the man poured himself another glass of wine. “Would you care for some, Gendry?”

“No thank you. I care not to drink this early.”

“Taking on the Starks’ manners already? Good lad. Likely why you’re being sent off to the North. If you stayed with me you’d probably end up a drunkard who stick his cock into every whore he meets. My brother does that already. We don’t need another. Under the Starks you might shape up to be hopelessly noble and honorable like our blushing groom here.”

Loras tilted his head back and carefully removed the stubble from this throat and from under his jaw. “I’d aim for something of a mix, though more to the Stark side of things. Like Robb, for example. Honorable but doesn’t behave like a eunuch.”

“I don’t behave like a eunuch.”

“You’re right. I’m fairly certain even Lord Varys shows more passion than you.” Loras caught his shoulder when he moved to face him and pushed him back, even as Renly’s laughter filled the room. “Keep still. I’m not finished.”

“What of it, nephew? Do we need to pay a visit to the brothel or are you like Jon and terrified of leaving behind a bastard?”

Gendry flushed. “I don’t need a brothel.”

“Oh! Do tell! One of the girls from the pleasure houses?”

He snorted. “Like I had the gold for that. No, a pretty widow in Flea Bottom. She got lonely, and she liked me, but she always drank her moon tea. Her husband was cruel to her, so she had no interest in marrying again.”

“Sad that a boy barely old enough to shave has more experience than our bridegroom.”

Jon scowled. “I don’t regret my choices.”

“Nor should you.” Loras wiped the traces of foam from his skin with the moist rag. “There, smooth as a newborn’s backside.”

Renly raised his glass. “He’ll be prettier than the bride.”

“I wouldn’t take it that far. No one is prettier than my sister.” Loras rinsed off his razor and began packing up his things when there was a knock on the door.

“At least someone remembers how to knock,” Jon mumbled under his breath before raising his voice. “Enter!”

Eddard Stark came into the room, something heavy draped over his arm. “My lords. May I have some time alone with my son?”

Renly stood up. “Of course, Lord Hand. We’ve tormented him long enough. We’ll see you in the sept, Jon.”

Ned waited until they were gone before closing the door. “Get out of there before you shrivel to nothing.” He lay the fabric across the bed and handed Jon thick towel as he got out. “What brought them here so early?”

“Mischief. And Loras decided he should give me a shave.”

Ned peered at him. “He did a good job. Nice to see he has a trade he can fall back upon if being a lord doesn’t suit him.” He chuckled as Jon rolled his eyes. “How are you?”

“I don’t know.” He pulled on a clean pair of trousers that had been laundered just the day before and laced them shut. “I truly don’t. I don’t know what to think. I know I’ve had weeks to come to terms with it, but part of me always thought someone would stop it.”

“Unlikely. Robert is too keen on bringing the Tyrells down a peg while rewarding the Starks, Loras thinks too highly of you for having the courage to save his life when no one else would have dared and you seem to have made too favorable an impression on your bride’s family. They are greatly impressed with how you managed to do so well for yourself in your exile. Olenna had that emerald set into a walking cane.”

“I saw. Lovely carvings on the wood.” Jon peered at the bundle. “What is that?”

“The rest of your wedding clothes. Sansa made the tunic and shirt. Catelyn started the cloak in Winterfell and sent it with Robb for Sansa and Arya to finish.”

He arched a brow. “Arya helped?”

Ned smiled. “I think it is the only time she’s never complained about sewing. She kept her stitches on the inside so they wouldn’t show.”

Jon took up the cloak and studied it. There, down low along the inside hem were horribly uneven and mismatched stitches in a thread matched exactly to the fabric so as to blend in. Seeing them made his eyes sting with tears. “I shall miss her.”

“As will I. I am sending her back with Robb. She hates Kings Landing and it would do for her to be around Gendry so we can tell if they suit one another.”

He nodded in agreement, then sighed. “I never thought to marry. I know nothing of being a husband. What if I’m shite at it?”

“No man knows how to be a husband when he first marries. Marriage is something you learn together and it is never the same for all couples.” 

Ned stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Listen to one another. You know that she is clever, so do not discount her thoughts and opinions. Honor her and remain loyal to her. Her name and honor should always be of the highest importance. You are already staring this marriage with a dangerous secret, as I did. My marriage was strained when I brought you home but was not able to tell the truth. Now I know I could have trusted a cat with the truth from the beginning. I know it is dangerous, but if you learn Margery enough to know she can be trusted, I would urge you to consider being truthful with her.”

Jon blinked. They had been operating under the belief that no one could know who he truly was. Now his father was telling him to tell Margery if he felt she could be trusted with the knowledge?

Still, Ned Stark had many years experience in being a husband.

He nodded. “I understand, Father.”

“Good.” Ned smoothed the cloak out onto the bed. “Now, you should eat something. We can’t have you passing out from hunger at the altar. You would never live it down.”

The rest of the day passed in a curious dreamlike quality. All the people. All the gifts. The titters of pretty young girls and uproarious laughter of men too deep in their cups. Finally it was time for him to take his place near the Septon at the front of the Sept to observe as Mace Tyrell escorted his only daughter to him and placed her into his care. Jon draped the dark cloak with the Stark dire wolf over her shoulders, taking her into the protection of his house.

Their vows before the Seven were sealed with a kiss.

And it was done.

He was wed.

May all the gods have mercy.

Somewhere there was a drunken Daedric Prince laughing his arse off.


	9. Chapter 9

It was not common for the heir of a house to renounce his position to take a position with another, but it wasn’t unheard of. Apparently Randyll Tarly’s weak spot was his wife. Before the departed, Lady Melessa had thanked Jon for taking her first born son under his wing. Randyll Tarly had been sullen but seemed willing to be satisfied that he would have Dickon as his heir and would no longer have to tolerate Samwell’s presence.

Jon put him to work copying the tomes in his study to send copies back to Maester Luwin. It served the dual purpose of getting the copies made and giving Samwell the chance to learn the spells for himself. Jon practiced with him when he could.

He had even less free time than he had before the wedding. Though the Maester and Loras weren’t sure how they felt about the magic, Ser Vortimer Crane thought it potentially useful to teach the soldiers. The teaching was voluntary and Jon started with basic healing and flames for all of them while joining his gold with that of House Tyrell to construct a training hall. It didn’t need to be anything grand, but a simple building of thick stone walls that could withstand the stronger spells of lightning and summoning for those that proved to have a talent for the work. It would take some time before the building was finished, so in the meantime he made sure the more volatile magics were practiced away from bystanders.

“Do not try to control the atronach directly. They will know what you need of them and they will recognize your allies and refrain from attacking them.” Jon observed the efforts of the four soldiers he’d taught the summoning. “At this point in your efforts you will only be able to summon one for a minute or so. Not long, but in a battle a minute can feel like an eternity and during that brief eternity the atronach can deal a great deal of damage to your opponent, or even the odds if you are outnumbered.”

“Where do they come from?” This came from an auburn haired young man who couldn’t yet grow a proper beard. He stared at the flaming creature he had called.

“From Oblivion. I wouldn’t suggest trying to go there. I’ve never been myself, but I’m told it is not a pleasant place.”

Only a few soldiers agreed to learning magic at first, but as they grew more confident their fellow soldiers grew more curious. Jon was now teaching a full seventy men at different levels. He had five different sessions, three one day and two another, alternating the days. He fit in physical training and working with his plants and potions between then. Add to that a wife who seemed determined to be with child before the next planting and he was kept very busy.

He finished up the lesson, his last for the day, and made his way to his chambers to scrub the spot and sweat from his skin before joining his wife for the afternoon meal. He had fallen into quite the rut with his daily activities. A bad habit. He needed to be preparing.

Upon entering his rooms he was surprised to find Margaery lying on the bed, stretched out atop the covers. Her eyes opened upon hearing him and she tilted her face in his direction. 

“Is something wrong?”

She smiled and lay her head back down. “Just tired.” She extended a hand his way. “Lie with me.”

“I’m dirty.”

“I don’t care.”

Jon removed his boots and outer tunic before stretching out next to her. She shifted until her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. “How did your lessons go this morning?”

“Very well. The first batch of students are up to summoning atronachs.“

“Did they set the bailey on fire?”

Jon grinned. “No, not this time. I was careful. The builders should have the training hall done in a fortnight. Then we shouldn’t have to worry as much about the odd fire.”

She made a hum of agreement. “I spoke to Sam. He has moved on to a book that tells how to set spells in runes. Like hunters traps.”

“I’d forgotten about those. I was always in pitch battles, so I rarely had the time to set down runes to fortify a position. I should refresh my memory on those. They could be useful.” He nodded. “You should learn them, as well. If we were ever to come under attack you could set them in the halls leading to where the women and children are holed up, just in case an enemy slips past the line to get in.”

“I would hope that wouldn’t happen.”

“We always hope, but it is never unwise to think ahead and be prepared.”

“You have lived a harsh life, haven’t you, husband? I am grateful that you matured into such a kind and generous man. You could have easily grown up to be a brute.” She traced idle patterns against the thin muslin of his shirt. “Are you...I know you were not happy with the idea of wedding to me, but are you pleased with your wife?”

He frowned and craned his head down too look at her silken hair. “Margaery, look at me.” She tilted her face up, eyes wary. “It was never about you. It was about leaving the North after I had been away so long, and about being set to do my duty to my family and the North, only to be pulled away from them. You are everything that a man could hope for in a wife. As lovely as you are clever, and you accept me as I am. I am honored to be your husband. I am sorry if I have made you feel otherwise.”

A subtle tension seemed to leave her and she smiled softly. “I shouldn’t have worried. I’m being silly. And it doesn’t help that my cousins giggle about you incessantly.”

“Giggle about me? Have I done something amusing?”

“No, they’re just jealous. they think you’re very handsome and they tease because they wish their fathers would find them as nice of a husband. Most girls to noble houses understand what their future will be. We know that we will marry who our father chooses, and the man will likely be older than us and want little from us save to bear sons. In exchange we have a home, protection and maybe a title. It is the rare lady who actually finds herself married to a man who treats her with as much consideration as you treat me.”

He frowned, “My father loves and respects his wife. He listens to her counsel on many things.”

“I said it was rare. Not that it didn’t happen. Or perhaps Northern men are different from our Southern lords. Mayhaps their fathers should look there for their good sons.”

“Maybe they should. You should mention Robb to them. After as much teasing I endured at his hands, I would enjoy his reaction to finding himself betrothed.”

She giggled at the idea herself. “Oh, there were plenty who noticed him. Lord Stark likely has already heard from a few interested parties.”

“Maybe we’ll get an invitation to a wedding soon, then. I could take you with me to Winterfell and show you the home that came with me from Skyrim. I think Robb says Maester Luwin mostly uses it now, tending to the glass garden and studying what they didn’t bring with them. Gendry might make good use of it. He was a blacksmith before he was declared a lord, and there is a forge in the cellar.”

She trailed her fingers over him some more. “If the invitation doesn’t come at an inopportune time. I spoke with the Maester today.”

“Oh? Did he tell you again how I am teaching you things that will lead you to your folly?”

“Only a little. I saw him for something else.” She hesitated. “My...menses are late. Only by a fortnight, too early to know for sure...” She trailed off, as though afraid to speak it aloud. They had been wed for nearly seven moons now, and the last two times her menses had come he had found her crying, upset that she had not yet conceived.

Now she looked at him as though waiting for him to speak. What did he say? He wasn’t opposed to having children, he knew it was expected of them, but was this the right time to bring a child into the world? Was there ever a ‘right’ time? There were always threats. Life was never completely safe.

“Are you well? Did the Maester voice any concerns?”

He could tell by the flash in her eyes he’d said the wrong thing. He truly was shite at being a husband. 

“He says I’m well. I’m young and strong. There should be no problems.”

His mother had been young and strong. Lyanna Stark had been as fierce as most men, and yet she had died bringing her child into the world. Many women died in childbirth. The specter of it hovered in the room.

Jon smiled. “Then we are blessed. If the gods are kind they will ensure the child has your beauty.”

Her expression relaxed. Good. He’d gotten it right. Women were mysterious and confusing creatures! He had less trouble keeping ahead of Daedric Princes and routing out the Dark Brotherhood.

She levered herself up, one hand fighting her skirts to move them out of her way until she had thrown one leg over and was seated astride him. “I would rather enjoy a dark haired son with storm grey eyes.” Her hands went to his breeches, deft fingers at the ties.

“Margaery, I’m covered in ash and sweat.” 

“And I told you that I don’t care.” Her clever hands slipped inside. He always came to swift arousal under her touch. It was as though she had her own special style of witchcraft. It was a wonder she hadn’t conceived before now. 

“Is it safe?” His words were uncertain but his own hands helped her reposition herself. Her skirts flared out around them like petals of a flowers shielding her from view even as she sank down onto him.

“Im assured that it is. The mothers even say that a woman’s hunger is greater when she is with child. As my husband, it is your duty to see to that hunger.”

She rolled her hips and he let out a groan. “I shall endeavor to do my best.” His hands came to her hips as he thrust up into her heat.

~***~  
“You have a visitor, My Lord.”

He would never get used to be called that. Jon looked up from the alchemy table where he oversaw the young girl’s work. Thanks to Margaery’s cleverness they had convinced some of the small folk to send some of their children to the castle for lessons. Many still needed to learn to read and write, a task that Samwell eagerly tackled, while those who at least knew their basics were being taught how to brew healing and fortifying draughts. “Who is it?”

The soldier looked back at him, straightening a bit. They weren’t sure what to think of him, the men. They respected his skills, both magical and mundane, but he technically had no true authority other than what might be granted to him by his good father. “The Imp, My Lord.”

He frowned. “The who?”

“Lord Tyrion Lannister. The Dwarf Of Casterly Rock.”

Well, he’d certainly heard his fill about what his family thought of the Lannisters, and he hadn’t been that impressed with the few he’d met, but if people went around calling him such names he would become rather surly about it. “And he said he’s here to see me?”

“Yes, My Lord. Asked for you by name.”

“Very well. Where is he?”

“The steward put him in the ground floor guest chambers nearest the door.”

“Right. I’ll just go see what he wants.” He placed an encouraging hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You’re doing very well, Grette. Follow the instructions just as you’re doing and keep at it.” She nodded in understanding and kept crushing the dried blossoms.

Jon made his way through the castle to the guest chambers. They had put the youngest Lannister in a room that would facilitate a quick departure. The Tyrells were being polite, but not overly welcoming. He rapped on the door and opened it when someone inside called out.

Tyrion Lannister was, indeed, a dwarf. He had the Lannister gold hair and his eyes sparked with a sharp intelligence. He was well dressed, as was expected given his family, and carried himself with an arrogance that Jon suspected he wore like armor. Life was hard for normal men. It was doubly so for those born different. There were those who would have killed a dwarf child, if only by neglecting their needs.

“Lord Tyrion, I am told you were asking for me. I hope your journey to Highgarden wasn’t a harsh one.”

“The point of a journey is the journey itself. The more interesting the more you grow.” He came forward and extended a hand. “Jon Snow, though it is Jon Stark now, I believe. My sister grumbles about your legitimacy. Though I suspect that has more to do with the king then doing the same for one of his own bastards than anything to do with you, personally. She certainly doesn’t mind the idea of your marriage to Margaery Tyrell. She has little affection for those prettier than she.”

Jon’s brows rose as he returned the handshake. “Very blunt.”

“I make it a point to be blunt. I may stand loyal with my family but they do not all stand loyal to me. I dare say the only one who cares for me is Jaime while my own father curses my very existence.” He walked over to the sideboard. “The castle staff brought me some rather nice wine. Would you sit and share it with me? I confess I mostly came here out of my curiosity of you, though part of it was because I can only torment my father or sister with my presence for so long before I wear dangerously thin on their nerves.”

“I don’t see why anyone would be curious of me enough to make such a journey.” He accepted the proffered seat and a goblet of wine.

“You don’t? Let’s see, Ned Stark’s bastard son, a bastard fathered by the last man anyone would have expected to father one, reappears after having been lost and presumed dead for six years. He returns not only alive and a man, but a skilled fighter who wields arcane powers and comes with a rather nice looking home filled with wealth and exotic treasures. My good brother is frightfully proud of that hammer, by the way, and I am most jealous of that ring you gave to my sister. Imagine the levels of debauchery I could sink to with something like that.”

Jon hid a chuff in his wine. “I will admit that was one of the reasons they were so popular, but it was a minor one. Still, there had to be more than gossip to bring you all the way to the Reach.”

“Not really. I am always on the search for knowledge. I can hardly become a brilliant warrior and since my brother Jaime is part of the King’s Guard, I am my fathers only heir, much as though he may despise the idea. I have to arm myself with knowledge and I am told you have secrets that have only been myth and legend until now.”

“You have an interest in magic, then?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“A good number of the Maesters from what I understand.”

“The Maesters fear anything that may diminish their influence. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“So you seek lessons, then?”

“Are there lessons to be had? That’s marvelous! I do enjoy academics.”

Now he did smile. This Lannister was far better than his siblings. “You went with my uncle to the Wall, did you not? At least I believe that’s what Rob told me.”

“Aye, that I did. I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. And to piss off the side.”

“Did you?”

“I did. Almost froze my cock off. It’s a miserable place with miserable men. Only a few are worth anything. Men like your uncle and the Lord Commander. And the Maester, I suppose, though I am yet unclear if he is a Maester or a Brother of The a Watch. Or both.”

That got his attention. “You speak of Maester Aemon? Aemon Targaryen?”

“He was a Targaryen, Yes. Took the Black so that people couldn’t try to use him in their plots to control the throne. A pity, that. Even in his advanced years it is clear he would have been a good ruler. It is vexing that those best suited to rule often seek to avoid doing so. Likely it is a sign of their intelligence. How much better off would we have been if Aemon had taken the secret offer to leave his orders to be king? How much better off would we have been if Eddard Stark had taken the Iron Throne instead of Robert Baratheon?”

How much better off would they have been if his own father had lived to claim the crown?

“I must admit, you are not as tall as I had expected. Grated you are taller than I, but who isn’t? However, the way you brother Bran speaks of you I expected you to be ten feet tall.”

“You spoke to a Bran?”

“Yes. I saw him on my way back through from the Wall. I admit my welcome was decidedly colder than the first time. I believe Lady Stark is less than pleased with the distance from her husband.”

“I don’t doubt it. They are quite devoted to one another.”

“As evident by the five healthy, beautiful children.”

Jon studied him, examining his own gut. To trust or not to trust. The man’s reaction would tell him if he was involved if nothing else. “She is concerned. There was a spot of trouble after Father left with the king.”

“Trouble?”

“Mmm. An assassin infiltrated the castle and tried to murder Bran.”

Tyrion’s goblet nearly fell from his fingers, his expression shocked and horrified. “What? Bran? It was Bran who fell, was is not? He had yet to wake when we left Winterfell! What purpose would it ser...” He trailed off and Jon saw the facts whirl behind his mismatched eyes. “He saw something, or someone fears he saw something. Does he remember what?”

“No, he doesn’t remember the fall or falling. Maester Luwin says that is not uncommon for head injuries such as his. He is unlikely to ever recover those memories.” _So he is no threat to you or yours._

Tyrion scowled. “Could have been anything. A plot against the throne. A plot against your father. Or something as ordinary as someone caused his fall, by accident or on purpose, and fear for their lives if he remembers.”

“It is vexing.”

“He was well, so they failed. He said his legs sometimes ache, and he may never again be as swift as other boys, but he walks and he is strong. An excellent archer as well. I asked a man I know to help design a modified saddle for him, one that will allow him to ride in more comfort. He designed my own and is quite good. Your brother may never be a knight or a great swordsmans on his feet, but he could still excel at fighting from astride.”

That was unexpected. “Thank you for that kindness, My Lord. I hope you will now be more understanding of Lady Stark’s demeanor.”

“Of course. You get on well with her, then? Not many bastards have a comfortable relationship with their fathers’ wives. I dare say my sister would gladly murder young Gendry. A wise move to tuck him away in the North. Sadly I didn’t get to meet him. He was already gone to your wedding by the time I returned to the Red Keep. I have heard plenty about him. I suspect less than half of it is accurate given the source.”

Jon arched a brow. Tyrion shrugged.

“You’ve met my sister. Just because she is queen does not mean she is everything that is elegance and grace. She’s cunning, ruthless, manipulative and petty. Trust me. I know her. She is not happy that some nameless tavern wench managed to give Robert a son who is, from what i am told, the spitting image of him.”

Jon had to agree. Though he had been cordial to Cersei when he had been in the Red Keep he had not actually cared for her. There was something about the queen that set his teeth on edge. Her smiles never reached her eyes, and there was a chill feeling about her. And if his father’s suspicions concerning the parentage of her children were correct, she would not be happy about Gendry.

Aloud he said nothing unkind about the queen.

“If you wish to study, I have no objection. I will speak to my good father and ask that he please extend his hospitality for as long as needed. I warn you that we start early, and I would caution against drinking too much wine. You do not want to have a headache when we start.”

Tyrion saluted him with his goblet and smiled.

~***~  
“Do you miss being a smith? Is that why you hide out down here?”

Gendry put the blade back into the coals to reheat it. “I do miss it, but I also wanted to work with some of the metals your brother had down here.” He gave the bellows a few good pulls before lifting the blade back up. “This, for example. It’s called ebony. Here we use that name for a black wood, really soft, but this stuff is better than iron or steel. And the armor and weapons made from it are black as pitch.”

“How did you have time to talk to Jon about all that?” Arya swung her feet absently from her perch on the work bench.

“I didn’t. He sent all the books about the various smithing and crafting back with us so we’d know what to do with this stuff. They have sketches of weapons and armor made from the more exotic stuff, but I’d like to see if I can come up with my own.”

Arya tilted her head to the side. “Like an artist.”

“I’m a smith, not an artist.”

“Why can’t you be both? You made that bull helm, and most smiths can’t do that. And it’s beautiful.” She grinned at the uncomfortable but happy expression his face took on. If other lords were as easy to talk to, she might not mind them so much. Maybe the best lords all started out as bastards. Well, except for her father and brothers, of course. “What else does he have down here?”

“Moonstone. Something called Orichalcum and another called quick silver. And something called malachite. I’m eager to try that one. From the books about it, it’s used to make glass armor and weapons.”

“Wouldn’t glass shatter?”

“Apparently not if you do it properly. I’m going to try a few small blades, maybe some gauntlets or a helm to get a feel for the stuff, then I’ll see if I can’t mix it in with some of the others.”

“Too bad Jon isn’t here. He could enchant them for you. He did Needle for me while we were in the Reach. Now it can burn whatever I stab with it.”

Gendry stopped and looked at her. “Really?” She nodded. “Show me.”

Arya hopped off the work bench and unsheathed the slender blade, passing it to him. Gendry studied it, then gave If a few practice turns, noting the subtle flames that danced along the steel. “Nice. Be careful not to set anything alight you don’t mean, though.”

She took it back with a roll of her eyes. “I’m not stupid. Since he did this, I let Sansa keep the dagger he gave me when he came to the city.”

“Does it set things on fire, too?”

“No, it’s different. Jon says it drained the strength and health of whomever you cut with it and gave it to the person wielding it. He didn’t particularly care for the spell, but he said it would be useful if I got in a tight spot against someone much bigger than me. I figured Sansa needed it more if she was going to stay in that snake pit.”

“Somehow I can’t see Sansa with a dagger.”

“She wasn’t happy about it, but she was too polite to refuse. I don’t know why she’s so silly.”

Gendry smirked and went back to his sword. “Your sister is a lady and proud to be one.”

“My mother is a lady and proud to be one, but she’d be smart enough to keep and use a dagger if she needed it.”

He had to give her that one.

~***~

He was the Prince.

He was her shining, golden lion.

True, he might get angry sometimes, but he didn’t mean it. And with the clever circlet Jon had given her, she didn’t even bruise. 

No harm done.

What Sansa couldn’t understand was why Joffrey was so angry with her sometimes. At times he could be sweet, then she would say something and he’d get mad. She never meant to make him angry.

She turned the dagger in her hands. Arya has wanted to us it on Joffrey because of Lady and Nymeria. And because of the butcher’s boy. But none of that would have happened if she wasn’t so wild and strange! Why couldn’t her sister behave like a lady? And Father encouraged her! “Dancing Lessons” indeed! She’d seen Arya and Syrio practicing in Highgarden. He was teaching her how to use that sword Jon gave her.

Did Father wish she were more like Arya? Did he wish she were more wild and less proper? Mother loved her as she was and approved of her manners and skills. Father never said he was displeased but he did nothing to rein in Arya’s behavior.

“What have you there, Little Bird?”

Sansa quickly hid the dagger behind her back, not sure why she felt guilty. “Nothing.”

The Hound arched a brow. “Nothing?” She didn’t resist overmuch when he reached behind her and plucked it from her hands. He studied the dagger, pulling it from the sheath. “Pretty little blade. Thought this belonged to your sister.”

“She told me to keep it.”

“What’s she gonna use, then?”

Sansa hesitated, knowing she shouldn’t draw attention to her sister’s peculiarities. But it wasn’t as though Clegane would ever be a suitor. “Our brother gave her a sword, and father found her a teacher for it.”

Clegane snorted. “Of course he did.” He moved as though to test the sharpness and Sansa’s eyes widened.

“Don’t!” He stopped and arched a brow at her. “The blade. It’s bespelled.”

“Magic? Like that pretty trinket he gave you?” He indicated the circlet and she nodded. “What’s it do?”

“Jon said that when you cut someone with the blade, it steals a portion of their strength and adds it to your own. He thought it was a wise one for a dagger held by a woman.”

The Hound looked impressed. “That is smart. Cowardly for a man, but clever for a girl. Someone who attacks you is likely to be bigger and stronger, and a damn coward in his own right. You’d need something special. Never fight fair.”

Sansa blinked. “But...there is no honor in tricks.”

He snorted. “Honor. Honor is for dumb cunts in pretty armor. Most of the ones in this city have never seen a real fight. They’d shit themselves if they ever did.” He resheathed the dagger and handed it back to her. “You should use that clever skill of yours with a needle and make you some ties for the scabbard so you can wear it on your thigh. Sleep with it under your pillow at night and wear it under your skirts during the day.”

She frowned. “Why?”

Clegane said nothing at first, just looked at her. The next moment his large hands were wrapped around her neck with a firm pressure. 

Sansa gasped. Her hands came up, the dagger dropped, and tried to pull his grip away.”

“Wrong move, Little Bird. I’m bigger and stronger than you. Most men will be. Your instinct is to try to pull my hands away, but that’s the wrong way to go. If you had your dagger right now, you could jam it here.” He let go of her and slapped a hand to his under arm. “See here? Where the joint of the armor leaves an opening? There’s a nice vein in there. If you were to jam you dagger in there not only would the cunt let you go, he’d likely bleed out before he could get help. Even if you missed the vein, you’d likely cost him the use of his arm.”

Sansa blinked and looked where he indicated. After a moment he put his hand on her throat again. More gently this time, and only one of them. “Or more like the fucker’ll think that he’ll rape you. Fuck you before he kills you. His other hand will be trying to pull up your skirts, which will help you get to you dagger faster. Then you go for his crotch.” He stepped back again, indicating the inner thigh. She blushed and looked only briefly before looking away. “The veins there are even better at bleeding him out, and you might take his cock out in the process.”

She swallowed as he moved in again. ‘The trouble with a sword is that a man needs room to swing it. That dagger lets you fight in close. A man who attacks you will think he’s got you cowed because he’s bigger and stronger. You need to fight your reflex to flail and escape and strike instead. Fight dirty, Little Bird. Think more like a wolf bitch and less like a lady. Ladies get raped and left to die. A she wolf guts her attacker like the pig he is.”

Clegane bent down, picked up the dagger and put it back into her hands. “And if you end up killing someone important, find your father or me first. You can’t trust anyone else to help you hide the body.”


	10. Chapter 10

“I do believe every house in the seven kingdoms is green with envy right now. I know the Maesters are.”

Jon logged the sale into his ledgers, noting how much remained his and how much was given to House Tyrell to cover the cost of plants and materials. He would have more than enough to pay the ones who were helping him brew the potions.

Tyrion helped himself to one of the sausage filled rolls Jon preferred for when he was too busy to stop for the morning meal but hunger caught up to him. “You return from your exile rich beyond the comprehension of most and now you are increasing that wealth as well as that of House Tyrell. Not to mention your elixirs are more effective than what the Maesters can manage.”

“I did offer to teach them. It is their own fault if they turn their noses up at it. Maester Luwin had no such trouble. He accepted my knowledge whole heartedly.”

“Surprising, given his age. Not many are willing to continue to learn throughout life, and the Maesters can get full of themselves.”

“He admits he wanted to be a wizard when he was a child. He was disappointed when he went to the citadel and all the books they had on magic were useless.”

Tyrion frowned. “Why do you think that is? They don’t say that magic never existed, only that it no longer does. But you return and you are able to use it.”

Jon closed the ledger once the ink had dried. “I had thought about that. A lot of mages are fiercely secretive and protective of their knowledge. Perhaps the citadel was tricked into accepting false tomes. I’d have to examine them to fully see.”

The dwarf grinned. “Wouldn’t that be something! Oh, to be there if they are false and the Maesters found out.”

“I get the feeling you don’t like them very much.”

“Oh, there are good and bad members in all groups, but by and large I find them arrogant and irritating. Maester Luwin was a good sort, as was Maester Aemon. The King’s maester, however, is a rambling old cunt who should retire.”

“He does seem to be past his comfortable years.” Jon counted out the coins that belonged to his good father into one leather pouch and the wages for his more accomplished students in another. If they were going to help brew the potions then they deserved fair compensation. It might not seem like much to him, but he knew the coins would be more than some of those young people had previously ever expected to earn with honest work. Besides, fair treatment and wages would better ensure loyalty.

There was a knock at the open door and both men looked up to see one of the guards. “Pardon, My Lord, But there is a brother from the Watch here, and Lord Tyrell isn’t yet back from his hunt.”

Right. The hunt. Jon had declined going along because the men from Oldflowers were there to purchase some of his potions and he was overseeing their bottling and packing. “I will greet him. The main hall?”

“Yes, Lord Jon.”

Tyrion hid a grin. He knew Jon didn’t particularly care for being called “Lord Jon”. Still, he was a Lord now and the men had to call him something. Many now looked at him with something akin to reverence. They’d seen him in the training yard and had sparred against him. They knew him to be as strong a fighter as he was an accomplished mage, and they admired him for it. If they ever saw him in a real battle and he equated himself well, they might even diefy him. Jon didn’t sigh and barely showed his discomfort. He nodded to the man and excused himself. “I’ll go with you. I might know the man.”

It turned out that he did, indeed, know the man. “Yoren! It’s time for you to be out and making the rounds again already?”

“The Watch is always in need for more brothers.”

“Jon, this is Yoren. He is charged with gathering new recruits for the Watch.”

Jon shook the man’s hand. “The North appreciates your service.”

“The North? Ah, that’s right. You are Lord Stark’s son.”

“I am. Is there any news of my Uncle Benjen.”

Yoren’s expression turned somber. “No, My Lord. He is still missing, I’m sorry to say.”

Jon nodded, his own face just as sad. “The dangers of the calling. Though it doesn’t mean we should give up hope. And, please, call me Jon. I am just a man.”

Tyrion cut off a snort of laughter. Jon ignored him.

“You must be weary. Lord Tyrell is not due back until tomorrow. Please, accept our hospitality. Rest here until he returns.”

“I’d welcome that. There’s word from the Wall that I need to give at any rate. I will need a place to hold some of the reluctant recruits as well.”

“I’m sure we can accommodate.” Jon nodded to the guard who had come from him. The man escorted Yoren away to get him settled. There were some recruits who needed chains and some that were there by choice. The former would be secured in the cells and the latter given rooms.

It was the next morning when Yoren made his way to Jon’s new training hall that the Watch Brother found himself surprised. He watched as Jon’s students practiced their wards by throwing balls of flame at one another.

“Keep your fire spells small. You’re all new to warding spells. I don’t want you setting one another on fire. Save the theatrics for when you get good enough for greater wards.”

“What about you, Lord Jon?” One of the men grinned at him. “How many of us can you defend against? Can you do greater wards?”

“Yes, I can work a greater ward. With time and practice you will be able to as well.”

“Show us!”

The other men joined in, all eager to see. Jon shook his head in amusement. 

“Fine! Fine.” He walked into the center of the salle, flexing his shoulders as he sized the men up. “All of you, then. Let me have it.”

He hands cane up, the air a d light bending and warping around it. All the men, a full dozen, began hurling balls of Fire at him and Jon blocked every one. He hands moved independently of one another so that he could hold all sides. Next to him, Tyrion heard Yoren whistle. “Fuck me sideways.”

“Impressive, isn’t he. He’s been at it a lot longer than the rest of us, of course. He says we can get that good with time and practice.”

“You learnin’ as well?”

“I’m in the first class of the day, with the newest ones. This is the middle group and his advanced students are his last group of the day, just before the noon meal. He spends his afternoons tending his plants and teaching how to brew healing elixirs and such. Our Lord Jon works himself hard, nearly to the point of exhaustion each night. Always preparing.”

“Preparing?”

“He’s a Stark. They always think the Long Night will return.”

Yoren’s expression grew dark. “They may not be wrong.”

“Don’t tell me you believe those old tales.”

“You haven’t seen what I have. That’s part of the reason I need to speak with Lord Tyrell.”

~***~

Sansa rushed to their solar the moment she heard there had been a delivery from Highgarden for her. One of her father’s men stood watch as one of the caretakers for the royal gardens carefully moved the delicate live plants from their shallow crates to roomier planters on the balcony where they could get lots of sunlight.

“Was there a letter?”

The guard smiled. “Yes, m’lady.” He offered her the folded parchment and she opened it quickly.

Dearest Sister,

I am quite impressed with what you’ve found out so far with your experimentations at Kings Landing. That pain draught you concocted is quite potent, though I do caution that the other effects might make it highly addictive. Use of it should be closely monitored and spare. Sam and I have added what you have observed in the plants their to our records.

I have sent some cuttings from some of my Skyrim plants as well as the flora found here along with my notes on what we have learned this far. I think you will find them quite interesting. Let me know if you decide you need a larger table and I will build one for you.

My students here are progressing quite well. A few of Margaery’s cousins have even joined, so you won’t be the only highborn lady who can claim the title of alchemist. We are even selling our elixirs to other keeps and making a pretty coin doing it. I am sure the Maesters hate us for it.

As always, be safe little sister. And know you can call on me any time you have need. I will send you more when I can and eagerly await word of your progress.

Your loving and loyal brother,  
Jon

She smiled and looked to the crate with dried herbs and empty glass phials for Jon’s notes. He had them secured in a leather satchel so that she could easily carry them. She had a servant carry the crate to her room where her small table Jon had made her before she left Highgarden took up one corner. There was a small writing desk nearby and she s the satchel upon it to start going over it.

Septa Mordane scowled whenever her father inquired as to how her studies were progressing over dinner, but Lord Stark encouraged her to continue. And it wasn’t as though she was learning how to wield a sword or use a bow like Arya. As skilled as she was with embroidery and lady like pursuits, she found that she enjoyed alchemy. Mother often helped in tending the small folk if they fell ill. It was considered a proper thing to do as the lady of a Keep. The lord and lady of a holding were expected to look after their people. Her learning alchemy was useful and would help her do the same here at the castle once she was queen. All said, Mordane couldn’t truly fault her in this.

And she liked being able to share this with Jon. Septa Mordane had said bastards were wicked and couldn’t be trusted, but Robb and Father trusted Jon. And she had never seen him do anything wicked. She had gotten to know the king’s bastard, Gendry, on the trip to Highgarden and he seemed nice. Somewhat awkward which was to be expected for someone plucked from Flea Bottom and and thrust into the life of a high born. He was polite, even if his words weren’t flowery, and he never sniggered or made crude comments about her sister. He seemed to respect Arya and treated her with the same deference as their father and brothers, not batting an eye about her wildness.

She had written to Mother about Jon and how she should be with him. Her mother had written back that Jon was a member of House Stark and dear to the family. He could not be held accountable for his parentage and thus should be treated the same as all her brothers. And, if she had doubts, that she should remember that he helped to heal Bran, perhaps even saving his life.

Jon had been missing for so long, but the man who had returned to them was handsome, brave and clever. It was as though he had walked right out of one of her stories or songs. If he wasn’t her brother she might even had wished her father had asked him to be her husband, or someone very much like him. She had the feeling that Jon would treat his wife with the same courtesy and devotion as Father did Mother. She hoped Lady Margaery realized how fortunate she was to have him.

Sansa carefully started unpacking the dried herbs and plants Jon had sent her. She wanted everything in its place before she started working with her new ingredients.

~***~

He found her sitting in a chair by the window, spine stick straight and hands jerkily working needle and thread through soft muslin that would be an infant’s gown once it was done. He didn’t need to see her face.

“You are angry with me.”

“Why ever would I be angry?” Margaery set another stitch, not looking up. “You’re only going to the Wall. It isn’t as though taking the Black was one of the plans you’d had for yourself. Before you were saddled with a wife you didn’t want.” Another angry stitch.

Jon felt his shoulders fall under the weight of it all. It had been a very tense meal and meeting with Yoren and the family. He shrugged out of his surcoat, a beautiful garment of green and gold that she had made for him and rivaled anything Sansa could make, and hung it up inside the wardrobe. “Margaery, I am not leaving you to take the Black. I am going because the Brothers need to learn what we know. You heard Yoren. You heard what he saw. What attacked Castle Black.”

“Attacked because they brought them inside.” She likely knew it was a weak argument, but she was in high dudgeon and not concerned with logic at the moment. They could not have left the bodies of dead men outside. It went against decency. “Dead men have no need to fear dying.”

Jon knelt down at her side, his hands taking hers into his own. “I have fought dead men before. Many times. I am not afraid to do it again. But these dead men raise their victims to join their ranks. If the Watch are to have a chance, they must learn what we know.”

“It is nearly three months from Highgarden to Castle Black. That much again back, and that is if the weather cooperates. You will miss the birthing!”

“I will.” His voice was heavy with regret. “I will miss it and I will return and spend the rest of my days trying to make it up to the both of you.” She refused to look at him until he took her chin gently into his fingers and turned her head. “I keep my vows. I swore to be your husband until the end of our days, and I will stand by that. I will return to you and our child.” He lowered his hand and rested it on the slight swell of her belly. “I am eager to meet them.”

“Him,” she corrected with a hiccup.

“Perhaps. We won’t know until they’re here.” He rubbed her belly, his expression pensive and thoughtful. “Still, there is something you should know before I leave. Something that may make you wish to be rid of me.”

She wiped tears she hadn’t wanted to she’d. “What? What could you possibly have to say that is worse than telling me that you’re leaving with Yoren?”

“Something dangerous. Something that should it become known could endanger House Stark. End their lives and mine, and perhaps even our child’s.” He paused, then sighed. “But you have the right to know. You should know. The child could give it away if luck runs out.”

Margaery frowned. “Jon, you’re worrying me. What could trouble you more than facing an army of dead men?”

“The truth. A horrible truth and few know and could bring all of Westeros crashing down. Father said that I should consider telling you, because you are my wife and this secret put a strain on his marriage until he finally told it to Lady Catelyn.”

She placed her hand over his, threading their fingers together. “You can tell me, Jon. I would never do anything to endanger your family. They are mine as well, now.”

He met her eyes. “Remember you said that, after you have heard the whole of it.” He took a deep breath and released it. “You have the right to know, because if our child is born with violet eyes or silver hair, you have the right to know why. I was raised my entire life believing that I was the natural son of Eddard Stark. In truth, he is my father in every way nut one. He did not sire me. My blood father...”

“Was Rhaegar Targaryen.” The words came out fast, rushed out to relieve him of the obvious strain they placed on him. She looked into his dumb founded expression and offered a tentative smile. “Grandmother puzzled it out some time ago. Before the wedding. She knew him, and though much of you looks like a Stark, there are features that resemble Rhaegar as well. And she maintains it makes more sense that Lord Stark returned with his sister’s child as well as her body rather than fathering a bastard. It wasn’t in his nature. She says it would have been more believable had he claimed you were his brother Brandon’s instead.”

Jon’s breath escaped him as though he’d been punched. The strength went out of him and he turned to sit on the floor next to her chair, staring into the room. “Well...I rather wished you’d spoken up before now. It’s been driving me mad, trying to determine if I should tell you or not.”

She ran fingers through his jet hair. “I don’t care if you are Rhaegar’s bastard. You have shown more nobility of spirit than most true born lords. And the king named you a Stark. That is enough for everyone else.”

“But I’m not.” He leaned back so that he leaned against her legs and could look up at her. “That’s the worst part. I’m not a bastard. I never was. When my father found his sister, he learned everything they believed was wrong. Rhaegar didn’t kidnap and rape my mother. He married her.”

Margaery frowned. “But he had a wife. Elia Martell.”

“The marriage was annulled. Granted by the High Septon at the time. He granted my father the annulment then married my parents the same day.”

She blinked,her lips parting in shock. “You are certain? How can you know?”

“Father found the documents with her. He gave them to someone he trusted to keep them safe and hidden. Because I looked like a Stark, he could use me in the open. He kept me with his children in Winterfell and raised me as he would his own sons.”

“Then you are a prince...”

He shook his head. “No. The Targaryens lost the war and the throne. I have no claim to that title, nor do I want it. Princes and kings are not their own men. They are servants to their people, or at least they should be. I have no desire for that burden. I am content to be my own man, to be a soldier when it is needed of me, and to do my best to be a good husband and father.”

But the rebellion was unjust!”

“Was it? Even if their reasoning was misplaced, Aerys Targaryen had to be stopped.”

“Rhaegar would have stopped him. He would have been a good king. Everyone says so.”

“Not within the King’s hearing they don’t. I admit I regret that I never knew them. I would have liked to have known my father and mother. But for all that Aerys was my grandfather, so was Rickard Stark, and Aerys had him burned alive. That truth haunts me.”

Margaery held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I can see how it would.” Her fingers resumed combing his hair. “It does no good to speculate on what might have been. If you hold no ill will against Robert Baratheon for killing your father, then there is nothing to be said.”

“I hold no ill will because I choose to believe he was as ignorant of the truth as everyone else. I believe he truly thought my mother was stolen, not that she left willingly. I wonder if they ever considered that men would die because they chose to be together.”

“I doubt it. More likely someone else took advantage of things to orchestrate that war. I cannot believe your mother didn’t try to get word of her marriage to her family. Everything I’ve heard of those times says that the Stark siblings were close.”

“That is what seems most likely, which means someone played all the lords for fools. None of them will want to hear that, either. No, if we want peace, no one can know that there is yet a Targaryen in Westeros. For the sake of our children, no one can know. They hunted down every child even suspected of being a Targaryen bastard after the king’s death.” His expression darkened . “When I was younger Father thought there were things we shouldn’t hear. When I stopped Clegane from killing Loras I did not yet know the extent of his crimes. Had I known then, I would not have stayed my hand against him as I did. I will not risk him or anyone else doing to you what was done to Elia Martell.”

“They will not. I know you will protect me, and if you are away...well, My Lord husband has taught me so many useful things.”

He tilted his head slightly for a better look at her. “Do you still want me as your husband, then?”

She smirked slightly. “My, but how things have turned. I will have none other, My Prince. I am your wife until the end of our days.”

Jon shifted to get back onto his knees so that he could reach her without forcing her to bend down to meet him. They kissed, the firelight of the candles flickering over them.

Neither were aware of the slender girl, not yet old enough to have flowered, move from the doorframe outside where she tended the floors. The doors were thick, but she had long since managed to work a slight gap in the lower portion between door and frame, just enough to catch words that speakers may not wish others to hear. With swift, silent steps, she hurried to where the ravens were kept.


End file.
